A Clock on the Face of Hell
by IdSayWhyNot
Summary: Fate was sealed that night. I was to live and fight, to breathe and conquer. The night I died and lived England celebrated the end of the nightmare that had yet to begin and praised the baby they would later fear and hate. I am Harry Potter. I am legend.
1. Prologue

_A/n: This will be one of the few Author Notes along the story. I just wanted to point out, because I'm getting PMs suggesting it, that this is **NOT **a Filius/Harry pairing. They are both listed in the summary because they will be the main characters, but no romantic relationship between them whatsoever. There will be other pairings however, but no slash nor incest._

_Thanks to **joe6991** (Author of Wastelands of Time)__for letting me borrow his words, which now form the title of this story._

_If you're interested in discussing this story visit www(dot)darklordpotter(dot)net [without the "dot"s, obviously...] I do my best to answer each and every review there, but I won't be answering in here; it gets too complicated. I do answer PMs here._

_Well, thanks for reading and hope you enjoy. Drop me a review every now and then and let me know what you think._

**Prologue**

Have you ever been accused of living in a bubble?

It can often happen when a person ignores the causes and consequences of historical events that in one way or another shaped our society into what it is today. Certain moments in history like the holocaust, the two World Wars, the fall of the Berlin Wall and the Cold War are facts that almost every single person in the world is aware of. To be ignorant of such major events is to beg be called an uncultured moron, or, in other words, to be accused of living in a bubble, safe from everything but what influences your every-day life.

Back when I was eleven-years-old I was unaware of most of these main events and moments in history. I was a moron. I lived in a bubble, and an ugly one at that. But it also turned out I was unaware of much more than I thought possible at the time. I was an even bigger moron, you might say. Because I didn't know a society completely different from what I knew had been hiding all along in plain sight. And as I grew up my perspective of the world shifted; what I considered myth became the norm; odd satellite readings became hidden cities; malfunctioning electrical equipment became a synonym of power; unexplainable meteorological changes meant gatherings and celebrations; and, perhaps most important of all, the history I knew turned out to be science-fiction.

For who would have known that Jesus himself was a sorcerer? Who would have thought a demon incinerated the library of Alexandria, years after the Muslim conquest in 652 AD? Or that John Cabot, the famous Italian explorer, had disappeared along with his five ships in an expedition to find a western route from Europe to Asia when he encountered a gargantuan sea dragon in the western coast of Greenland? Or that Jack the Ripper was nothing less than a brilliant potions researcher who liked to keep his ingredients fresh and available, and did so by murdering women and taking their organs, in full compliance with the magical to non-magical laws of the time?

I certainly hadn't known. But my Professors, friends and even my enemies educated me, and very slowly, almost painfully, I adjusted.

But perhaps the hardest part for me to understand was that I – Harry, just Harry; I weed the garden on Mondays – was something of a celebrity, unique you might even say, and my story was known by children before attending school, like I had known about Edison and Da Vinci. What I had thought was just a scratch on my forehead, product of a car accident, was in fact a symbol that the youngest of kids from the oldest of citizens recognized and celebrated.

I went from lowliest juvenile delinquent to prodigious child overnight.

And that was how my education in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry began, with lessons in history, culture, magic and life. Years flew by and, in their wake, there came chaos. It seemed that from the moment I survived the deadliest curse magic had to offer I was doomed, destined to live and fight a nightmare. And that night, while my 'betters' made plans for the future and left me to live a hard childhood, at that moment, my country – my poor, naïve and deluded Britain – celebrated the end of the nightmare that had yet to begin and praised the baby that would one day become a man they would fear and hate.

One by one, year by year, foe after foe, I lived and matured. My first time was almost an accident and luck chose my side. The second was forced upon me, for I would have never turned my back on a friend in need. But the third was the first time I purposefully chose action over passiveness, truth over deceit.

And I conquered.

The very first time I stood up for myself and mine I _fucking_ conquered, and by a wide margin too. I still remember the horrified screeches of the minor demons as they faltered against the onslaught; the rush of my steady and bottomless power that manifested in a bright white light; the glorious shape of my will trotting over a frozen lake.

The physical manifestation of my will changed, but it would never waver.

Year after year the nightmare wore on. Its influence slowly but surely spread, and my country – my poor, deluded Britain – was plunged into darkness. The Lord of the Light fell, betrayed by his most loyal ally, who couldn't resist temptation. The only unbreakable structure, the Bastion of the Light, was pierced and destroyed. The Ministry of Magic was consumed by greed and corruption. Those who joined the bringer of chaos lived and reinforced the madness, while those who opposed him were cut down, one by one, my friends among them, until Great Britain died, and the Magical Empire of Britain was born.

I lived the nightmare. I fought the nightmare. I fucking breathed the nightmare.

The former Ministry of Magic labeled Lord Voldemort a terrorist when he first began his campaign – all those years ago, the one time I didn't live, before I was even born – while those who joined him called the Dark Lord a freedom fighter. But as the madness trudged forward and divided the land, the balance changed. Somehow I became the terrorist, a mad man attacking the peaceful citizens of the Magical Empire of Britain, while Lord Voldemort was hailed a war hero and a leader by the same power structure that had originally opposed him.

But when the balance changed no one called _me_ a freedom fighter. There was nobody brave enough, loyal enough, or mad enough to be on my side. My side was me, because I was all that was left. My name – the same name that people used to shout with awe and pride – was now whispered with fear, with heart-gripping terror. And there were rumours of the new Dark Lord striking against their way of life, killing their Ministers and Most Noble citizens, defying the might of the greatest Empire, the Magical Empire of Britain, for no reason other than lust for absolute power and a severe mental illness that went beyond psychosis.

I have many names and titles – Harry Potter; Harry James Potter, the Dark Lord; the Bane of Britain; You-Know-Who – but the ruthless, blood-thirsty bastard of a man society used to call Dark Lord Potter has had many more names than the ones I had by the time of the Empire. You have probably heard a few of them yourself. After all, they aren't exactly a secret. Well, most of them at least.

However, in this story – the story I am about to tell, the story of my life – the Emperor Voldemort and his Magical Empire of Britain aren't important. Why, you might ask? Because that is a reality that never happened, not for you. I did live the nightmare, I did fight it, and I did breathe it, but you never have, and you never will. Because I made the leap – I changed the course of history.

Arrogant as it may sound, it is true. And if you've done half the shit I have, then you have every right to be arrogant. There's a point where humility blurs into stupidity, and the insane man grips to arrogance like a lifeline, while the sane one drowns in despair.

So you see, my dear reader, you live inside a bubble. You don't know what happened in that time – that other Time – and you don't know what happened in this one. You don't know how you came to live this life, in this moment, in this society. You don't even know who did what and when, least of all why, because you weren't there and, if we're lucky, you never will.

And that's why you're here, right? To know, to find out?

Like any other arrogant narrator, I shall begin with myself; hello, I am the Boy-Who-Lived, The Chosen One, an extraordinary wizard living in extraordinary circumstances; or I am Harry, just Harry, an ordinary wizard living an ordinary life – take your pick. I weed the garden on Mondays and kill Dark Lords on Tuesdays. On Wednesdays I make lunch and become a convict, and, if I'm lucky, I'll be the Dark Lord Potter by Thursdays. Weekends are my days off.

But on Fridays, when I feel like it, I save the world.

Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Harry James Potter, and I would like to tell you the story of how I became a legend.**  
**


	2. The Devil and the Clock

Disclaimer: Don't own HP. No profit being made.

**A Clock on the Face of Hell**

**Chapter 1: The Devil and the Clock**

I've never liked closed spaces. I don't know if it's a result of living in a cupboard for ten years or knowing how vulnerable you are to an attack, though frankly, I didn't care either. I knew I disliked closed spaces, especially those that were underground, like dark caves and small, narrow tunnels, such as the ones we found ourselves in.

My companion of one month knew that. Even if he hadn't known before we came, he certainly did now. I had been complaining about the lack of oxygen, the potential for disaster and the creatures that lurk in the dark for a while now. And I was still going strong.

"There better be a fucking veela at the end of this shit-hole, Filius."

The half-goblin gave me a resigned look before turning around and resuming his climb. The little man was almost at home in the dark tunnel. He hopped easily from boulder to boulder, skipped over cracks in the rock and ducked effortlessly while I struggled to match his pace.

It had taken me a while to adjust to Filius. I, of course, remembered him from back at school. He had always been that rather eccentric but good-natured professor that could make you work your hardest without being harsh or strict. Back then I used to think he was alright – liked him even – but over the years I had learned not to judge someone by the face they showed to the world, and in Filius Flitwick's case, experience proved me right once again.

Oh, the man was cheerful and likeable, alright. But just because he smiled didn't mean he was a push-over. And just because he used to be Head of Ravenclaw didn't mean he was lost in a sea of books and theories either. It didn't happen often, but once in a while I got to see that other side of Filius Flitwick, the ugly side of a man that had once been so brutal and ruthless that had killed his opponent in an international dueling tournament...

…And isn't guilt a wonderful thing?

As we walked through the endless, narrow tunnel Filius would hold a piece of weathered, old parchment and consult it under the light of his wand, muttering under his breath things like, "...Shall be safe at thine home…the Lord's lore…", "…Into the coldest fires of Time…a path of Old", or "…And power in a circle…walk through Time."

My job was to keep the slippery path illuminated and to check for traps or any kind of danger. It was so unbelievably dull and wearisome that I took to magically prodding every hole, boulder, plant or rock that looked out of place.

However, the longer we walked the fewer things out of place I could spot. It felt like we had been underground for hours. At first I would pull out my pocket watch to check the time, but I soon noticed the damn thing had stopped working. The arrows had stuck at 3:04 a.m. and didn't look like they'd be moving anytime soon.

"How long do you think we've been here, Fil?" I asked.

Filius gave me a look I knew all too well. "We've been over this, Harry," he said, his tone patient, the same he'd use whenever I asked that question. "Just remember to keep your eyes on the path and your ears on the wall. There's no telling what could come next."

"Right."

I was pretty sure what would come next – a dark, long and damp tunnel – but I kept my thoughts to myself.

We had travelled all the way from Ireland to France, and we couldn't even apparate. We had had to take a series of inconveniently-charmed portkeys, which resulted in too much walking and too long days and nights of sharing motels and tents.

Ireland and France aren't even that far apart. Hell, we could've taken the Muggle underground to go from London to Paris. But according to the Magical Empire of Britain's laws, wizards and witches travelling outside the borders required a class 2 passport, whether they used magic or not, and the busiest means of transportation were monitored for trespassers.

Neither Filius nor I could go to the government and request travelling authorization by portkey, apparition or train. It was either flying or taking the ferry, which also constituted risks. I wasn't the most inconspicuous person in the country, to say the least. Add the midget to the mix and we had opted for flying past the tracking wards and the use of random portkeys.

So we had ended up jumping from country to country to avoid being tracked until we got to Lac du Der-Chanteqoc, an artificial lake in northern France known for its large colony of merfolk and a hefty population of the Common Crane, a large bird that makes a strange trumpeting noise and enjoys dancing with its wings uplifted.

And now that long part of our journey – the easiest in every way – was over. At least our one-week trip had included fresh air, good food and comfortable beds. This part included hard, unyielding rock, canned goods and stale, almost putrid air, and seemed to encourage headaches and severe disorientation.

But Dimassio's Clock could be here, so we kept walking, clinging to the desperate hope of a last second chance.

As the stillness grew tense and our patience thin Filius, who disliked silences as much as I disliked closed spaces, began talking. It was idle, pointless conversation centred on the very few memories we had in common, but it kept our minds from the never-ending path. When it became clear we had no other moments to share with each other (I refused to talk about life in the last few years) he turned to the topic of what to do if our plan worked and what we would like to see and do.

"Personally, I would like to see old acquaintances again," Filius wistfully told me. "Imagine seeing them all young. Of course, you had not even been born back then, but the world was different, Harry, vastly different. There was peace and a care-free atmosphere I confess to miss. War was fought in places that seemed far way, much too far for us mere mortals to concern ourselves with it."

Hearing Filius talk with longing about the golden days was somewhat soothing. It brought forth painful memories, images and moments of the old times that were mostly best left forgotten. But among death, destruction and despair there were also memories of my friends and lovers, of the brief moments of peace.

"We should think of this opportunity as a privilege, Harry, one that many – me, among others – would do far worse than killing to experience. After all, who hasn't dreamed of being young again?"

When Filius first managed to contact me and suggested this scheme I hadn't even considered the possible, more pleasant side-effects. For me the plan was a tool to be used, a way to right the mistakes that were made and rip to pieces those that had wronged me and mine. I was a man with a single-track mind. I had lived alone, bitter and hopeless for so long that the idea of a second life sounded almost foreign, like a dream only others were allowed to have.

For some reason Dumbledore came to mind. He would've been disappointed in me, I was sure. He would've been patronizingly understanding, of course, but he had expected more from me, that much I knew. Yet I had changed. The fine line between dark and light magic had blurred for me, while the people that wielded them had settled firmly into black and white, with no shades of grey; I would either slaughter or protect, I only saw foe or friend.

"What about you?" Filius asked. "Anything in particular you wish to change for the better? Besides the obvious, of course."

"Not really," I answered curtly.

Filius looked sad at my answer. For a moment I felt ashamed of myself. This man had been through hell too. What right did I have to ruin his one moment of blissful day-dreaming? But then the feeling was replaced with bitterness. I didn't want pity or sympathy.

"Do you not have any dreams, Harry?" Filius asked, softer this time, as if he were afraid of my answer. "Before this, before Voldemort, and the Empire, and the war – did you not have dreams, aspirations? What did you want for yourself when you were younger?"

"Nothing, Filius, nothing," I answered, trying to reign in my bitterness. "I want to go back and change things, is all. And in case you haven't noticed, we're still far from making the leap, if we even can. I say concentrate on the tunnel first. If we ever make it to where we have to be and all goes well, then, and only then, I'll think about the future."

Filius shook his head sadly, lost in his own thoughts. I didn't know how long I could've kept my resentment at bay if the conversation went too deep. But all he eventually said was, "Call me a dreamer, Harry, but I believe life will one day show you its brighter side."

So focused on Filius' words I failed to skip a familiar crevice in the rock and tripped. I barely managed to keep myself from biting the cold rocks by breaking the fall with my hands. My companion heard me curse and walked back to help me up.

"Thanks," I said, a bit embarrassed.

"No matter," Filius said. "Are you alright?" I nodded and plucked a thin shard of rock from out of my hand. He smiled. "Good. Let's get going then. And do try to see where you place your feet."

"Har, har."

He grinned toothily and resumed walking deeper into the tunnels. I patted myself to make sure nothing was missing. I sighed. It's a wonder my pocket watch had survived so many falls. I quickly spotted it under the glow of my wand, a few feet back the way we'd come from, its golden surface reflecting the light.

I picked it up and jogged to catch up with the half-goblin, who could walk quite fast despite his short legs. He hadn't moved much, however. I found him standing still with a look of utmost concentration and perhaps confusion on his face.

"Filius?" I prompted. "Soiled your underwear already?"

He gave me one of those looks and pointed at the path ahead of us. He said, "Don't you see something...different? I – it feels different already."

I shrugged. It looked quite similar to me, if not identical; the same strange weeds, the slippery, damp surfaces, the rocks lying about randomly... But then I saw it. Or felt it. As if I veiled had been lifted from my senses I sensed the dormant magic around us, a soft, almost delicate thrumming of old power unperturbed by the passing of time, flowing from the back to beyond our line of sight.

"I see it," I said, whispering for some reason. "And you're right. The tunnel changed."

"I believe..." he muttered slowly. "Yes, I believe it has. I wonder what brought this about..."

"I have absolutely no idea," I said. "Only thing we did different is me falling like a klutz."

"Yes, strange. Very Strange," Filius said, his eyes taking in the changes. Poor scholar looked dumbfounded. "Do you suppose stopping made the difference? Or perhaps walking the other way? Perhaps we had been walking in a circle and going backwards broke the enchantment."

"Sounds reasonable," I said. "But does it matter?" I didn't care about reasons as long as we were making progress. "Let's call it life showing me its brighter side and move on."

Filius shook his head. He motioned for me to follow him as he resumed the slow trek. "Alright, cheeky brat," he said, "you walk in front if the tunnel's sudden benevolence isn't of importance."

"Sure thing, boss," I said, feeling quite pleased with the sudden turn of events. "Whatever gets this hunt moving."

The tunnel started narrow but widened quickly as we advanced. Every now and then there was a sudden turn, a definite improvement over the straight path we'd left behind. We went left, right, right, left, right, left, left, and soon I lost count. We were probably miles under the surface by now.

"Good show," I said. "To the cold fires of Time."

"And the lore of Seigneur Dimassio," he added excitedly.

Whereas the previous tunnels had looked like they'd been dug through sheer force – blasting curses and the like – this one was much smoother, and it looked like it had been used for more than just collecting weeds and pungent air. It practically screamed of wizard presence.

The ground was even and dry, no longer slippery. The path had widened, the walls were flat and the ceiling tall. There were drawings on the walls, carved with chisel and wand, including a particularly disturbing one of the Devil holding a large clock with both hands over his head. At seemingly random intervals we would come across metal brackets fixed to the walls, occasionally holding wooden torches that had long since burned out and their magic was now dead.

I was encouraged by how different our path was from what we've been through before. Even though I couldn't see anything that remotely alluded to the third line – '_coldest fires of Time'_ – we were in high spirits. I could sense we were almost there too.

Filius commented on how the ominous painting of the Devil was recurrent. We kept seeing it at what I soon noticed to be a fixed pattern of around two hundred feet apart. But only a few more obstacles to overcome and _I_ would be the one holding the Clock in one hand and the world in the other.

And fuck the Devil.

* * *

As time wore on and the path sloped downwards our excitement slowly dissipated and weariness came back with a vengeance.

The long walk soon had us both irritated and snappy. I was sweating. My robes stuck to my body and I felt uncomfortable in them. No matter how many cooling charms we used the temperature had been steadily building up and our magic had been ignored. My patience – not my most developed trait – was at its end.

At some point Filius once again started some idle conversation to keep our minds off the seemingly endless quest. I soon tired of the nonstop babbling of my companion. He tended to talk too much when bored. I was more of a quiet person, not used to having companionship for long periods of time. His incessant chatter ground on my nerves and despite my short and uninterested responses Filius refused to shut up.

And to make things worse, the Devil – the same damn illustration of the bastard – kept showing up in intervals, mocking me with his possession of the clock. At one point I stopped and glared at it, daring him to move. The absurdity of my actions soon filtered through my brain and I turned and strode away. But the next time I walked past one of its illustrations I started to feel uncomfortably exposed and once or twice I thought I'd seen the vacant spot where its eyes should be follow my progress.

After an uncertain amount of time agonizing over the same unchallenging path we discovered the reason our cooling charms failed and the temperature rose.

"What do you think?" Filius asked.

"Many things, Filius, and none of them good."

We stared at the abyss of fire. The tunnel ended abruptly and the ground vanished. We stood at the very edge. The huge cavern was as wide and long as a Quidditch pitch was wide. Another step forward and we'd fall and burn. I hadn't imagined this to be the '_coldest fires of Time_'.

There was magic in the air. Not the one you choke on in cheesy romance novels, but the kind you expect to find on ground zero, where fire burns everywhere and everything else dies. I recognized the fire as Gubraithian fire, a type of flame that never goes out but doesn't spread by itself.

That was good news, at least, for it suggested someone had deliberatively cast the ever-lasting fire from the very bottom of the trench right up to be level with the end of the tunnel we stood on. As long as this was an original part of the defences set to keep most out but some in we were fine, we had a chance. I knew we would cross it somehow.

Filius shielded his eyes from the fire's harsh glare and pointed at the other side of the abyss. He said, "Can you make out that…platform? What is that?"

Through the billowing smoke I could see the hazy outline of something that looked like a doorway. It was certainly unlike the tunnel we stood in. There was definitely a door, probably the entrance to Dimassio's quarters.

"That's our way out, alright," I said. "Looks like a doorway to me. Just cross the fire and we're there."

I looked down at the fire. The heat was overwhelming. I thought about drowning the enchantment, the only way it could be put out. It would take a tremendous amount of power, for no doubt this trap had been cast in more than one day – more than a month, probably – but it was doable.

"So this is it?" I asked, and part of me was deeply disappointed at the lack of a proper obstacle. "We walk for miles and our only challenge is this? The son of the most powerful wizard in the history of France defends his tomb and possessions with a long walk, creepy pictures and a small pit of fire?"

"Your arrogance will kill you, Harry," Filius said. He didn't look pleased with my attitude. In fact, he didn't look pleased with anything. Not that I could blame him; I felt the exact same way. "We are risking everything to make the leap. Should we fail again, you know what will happen – you see it every day. So lose that arrogance and think things through."

I shook my head. The half-goblin was much too serious sometimes. A healthy dose of dark humour was what kept my head in place, especially when I was feeling frustrated and out of patience. Filius dealt with his nightmares and problems with formality and detachedness. Everyone coped their own way, I supposed, but that didn't mean I liked him pissing on my parade.

"Whatever, Filius," I said. "Just tell me how to make it to the other side. Only way I can think of is to dispel the fire. Thoughts?"

"You won't be able to, Harry," Filius said, and through his irritation I thought he sounded a bit patronizing. It instantly got on my nerves for some reason. "This is Gubraithian fire. It is no ordinary flame. It will burn forever, undisturbed by the lack of oxygen or the matter thrown at it. Our best chance is to avoid it. For you to engage in a power struggle would be useless and foolish."

I gritted my teeth. "I don't think so," I said. "The fire will burn no matter what we use to protect ourselves. The only way forward is by putting it out."

"Perhaps, Harry, but I believe you are wrong," he said and sighed, as if sharing his thoughts with me was pointless. "There are many paths we can explore. We can find the focal point, we can try and create a portkey or we can levitate ourselves over the fire. Notice it only rises up at ground level? There are many possibilities. Do try to be reasonable."

"Reasonable? I'll give you reasonable, you dolt," I hissed. "A portkey won't work. This whole complex is layered with protections against apparition and portkeys, as we found out when we first stepped inside. Levitation won't work either, no matter how high you put yourself in the air – the fire is too strong. No amount of cooling charms will counter it." I glared at him. "And don't even give me that shit about the focal point. How the fuck are you going to find it with all that fire? It could be anywhere! We don't have time for this, Filius."

"Ah, but time is all we do have," Filius said.

"Spare me, man, we don't have that much time. Someone could come 'round any minute. I'd like to search for that damn clock without Aurors trying to curse me." I motioned for him to move away from the edge. "Step aside, Filius, I'll do it."

"Patience is a virtue, Harry," Filius said, "and rashness is often the downfall of youth. I know the long walk has left us exhausted and aggravated. But let us think this quietly and patiently, for with enough time we are sure to –"

But I was having none of it. I was past the point of caring.

"Cut the bullshit, for fuck's sake!" I said. "I won't waste time looking for a solution that already exists, you conceited prick. Step aside now or I'll move you."

Filius' face clouded. "You'd do well to remember I am not one of your friends, Potter. And as such, I demand respect from you, no matter how important you think you are. Are we clear?"

My temper reared its ugly head, always too close to the surface these days.

I grabbed the half-goblin's shoulder and spun him to face me. "I will say this only once, man, before I snap," I said, the warning in my tone evident. "Do _not_ patronize me. Do _not_ treat me like an idiot. And whatever you do, don't tell me what I can or can't do, damn it! I'm not sixteen years old anymore, _Professor_, and you don't even know me! Got it?"

Filius looked startled for a moment. Then his expression shifted to anger, his face grim and eyes narrowed. His wrinkled frown and flared nostrils gave him a possessed look, unnatural almost.

"Wake up, Potter!" he said coldly and pushed me against the wall. "This is not one of your little adventures in a magical castle. What is wrong with you? A mistake won't cost you points now, you idiot. If you fail, the consequence is death – death for me and for you, and for everyone else that is counting on you. Now stop stroking your overly-fucking-inflated ego and –"

"ENOUGH!"

I roughly grabbed the midget from the scruff of his neck and tossed him aside. My breath came out harshly. I turned and stood tall before the raging inferno and magic flared dangerously. I lifted both arms at shoulder level and my wand jumped to my hand from the holster on my forearm. Wind came from nowhere and my black cloak billowed behind me.

It couldn't have lasted more than thirty seconds.

Strange stray thoughts tried to disrupt my focus, but they failed; my mind was solely on the fire. I brought my hands down and crouched to touch the warm rock. The wind swirling around me roared as I fed it power, its rushing noise drowning any other sound, including Filius' frantic swearing. With my wand in my right hand I abruptly stood and slashed it vertically.

I felt the rush, it was exhilarating. There was nothing that could match the feeling of absolute power, of my will shaping the world. Any other experience would pale in comparison.

My irritation left me, replaced by that all-encompassing feeling of control and blind fury; my heart-beat sped up; my muscles tensed; the wind around me whipped the few flames that dared lick too close. I was ready.

"Is this foolish? Is this useless?" I yelled over the roar of the wind. "Here's your respect, Flitwick. I'll show you foolish, you son of a bitch!"

The reddish glare of the fire seemed to dim, properly cowed. The tip of my wand burned a harsh white – _I_ was the one that burned now. The uncertain shadows of the monstrous cavern vanished, leaving a blinding light in its wake. I thrust my open palm and wand forward. The roaring storm that circled me travelled the length of my body. It coiled around my forearms and burst like a cannon through the weak fire, aiming at the exit opposite me.

The sea of flames parted, split in half. As the thick, black smoke was blown away I saw the door being blasted off its hinges. The Gubraithian fire grew taller as the wind forced it to the sides. Directly in front and below me I could see the bottom of the trench. Flames spat daringly forward but when in the way of my storm they were roughly pushed back.

I put everything I had into the spell – every ounce of my will and power, of my anger and frustration. The fire had no chance.

In seconds my magic overpowered the enchantment and it began to shrink into itself. The twin towers of flame that flanked my unforgiving wall of wind stopped rising and collapsed. The Gubraithian fire made a last attempt to regain control but I squashed it ruthlessly. With a last upwards slash of my wand the fire rushed to meet the ceiling, exploded in a shower of flames and vanished, leaving the room in darkness and silence.

I let my shoulders slump as exhaustion caught up with me. I was breathing in and out in short gasps. That had been a tremendous expenditure of power. I turned and found Filius slumped on the ground, supporting himself with his hands on the rock, his eyes wide and a little fearful. I sheathed my wand and helped him up. He didn't look to be all there yet.

"You okay?" I asked, not unkindly, but certainly not pleasantly either. "Come on, Filius, snap out of it."

Filius shook his head to clear it. I left him leaning against the wall and turned to inspect the empty trench with my hands clasped behind my back. My feelings of frustration and anger vanished quicker than they had come, and in their wake I felt strangely empty, as if I'd been gifted with something that had been roughly taken away.

I cast a small globe of light and willed it to hover in the middle of the large room before me. Its light pierced the darkness that had settled in – the darkness I had brought about. I knew I was still a little high on adrenaline, but I couldn't help feeling proud of my work. Yet the feeling of emptiness lingered, similar to the one I associated with suddenly leaving the company of the Dementors' icy grip.

"Harry?" Filius whispered behind me. I turned to look at him. "I – I'm – I didn't…" He swallowed nervously. There were tears in his eyes and his expression was that of a sad, resigned man, which puzzled me. I got the impression that he was hiding something from me. "I'm sorry. I couldn't possibly have imagined you to – well – you to do…that."

I nodded slowly and sat on a flat rock opposite Filius. My unfocused eyes found the illustration of the Devil carved on a wall. This one was different though. It looked to have been carved deeper into the rock than the rest and was surrounded by a flickering outline that formed a circle of fire around it.

"That's alright, Filius," I said awkwardly. "And I'm sorry too."

He managed to quirk a small smile and a nod, but his gaze still tended to drift towards where the fire had been with a look of longing on his face. I frowned. There was more going on here than I'd noticed.

"What happened, Fil?" I asked softly. "What did you see?"

I thought I caught a glimpse of guilt on his face, but it was gone before I could be sure.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Harry."

"Well, what you said, your tone…and what I said, too, I suppose," I answered, deliberately not looking at him. My eyes found the dark outline of the doorway across where the fire had been. I couldn't see the door, which I knew was lying on the floor somewhere. "It was completely out of character for you to say those things. So what happened?"

"And it wasn't out of character for you, too?" he said with a weak chuckle.

I smiled sadly. We both knew that wasn't the case, though I had never acted that way with him before.

His hesitant smiled vanished and he sighed wearily, and I thought he looked tired, old, as if there was a weight on his shoulders that he couldn't wait to get rid of. I never would've told him, never said it aloud, but I was deeply ashamed of the way I'd acted and quite glad Filius didn't seem to be holding it against me.

"I believe that was an enchantment more cleverly designed than we gave it credit for," Filius answered. I was pleased to note his tone and body language were slowly reverting to his usual self. "At first sight it looked like the Gubraithian fire was a formidable enough protection that it could stand by itself. But it wasn't."

"Take a close look at this illustration." He gestured at the Devil, which had been carved right above where he was leaning against the wall on the floor. "Ominous symbolism aside, this is a conduit powered by the fire, used to spread an enchantment that tampered with our feelings. I am sure you missed it, busy as you were drowning those flames, but when you effectively dispelled the Gubraithian fire this…art work flashed red. The same happened with every other painting within the tunnels."

He gave me a tired smile.

"Had you not acted the way you did, we would have undoubtedly killed each other, given enough time."

We spent a moment in silence. It was gratifying to know that me acting like a royal dick had at least yielded some positive results. I trusted Filius, and I trusted his judgement. If he said there was enchantment that made us act that way, then I believed there was. But even if the alien feelings of anger and frustration had vanished, the excitement that had possessed us less than an hour ago did not return.

"Well, no point in agonizing over it," Filius finally said. He slowly stood up and patted me on the elbow. "Best not to think of it too much, Harry" he said, kindly now, as I was used to him. "Compose your thoughts while I look into how to reach that platform."

I watched him stand on the edge of the tunnel, carefully lean forward and look down. My ball of light still hovered ahead and bathed the room in white. He whistled appreciatively. It had been a hell of a lot of fire to extinguish.

"We could lower ourselves to the ground," Filius suggested. "Rock looks a bit hot, if that smoke is anything to go by, but we could use a few freezing charms and walk right to the other side. What do you think?" He turned around. "Harry?"

"Wha – Oh, yeah. Sure."

It didn't take long for us to reach the other side. Filius had a knack for self-levitating spells and I watched a little jealously as he showed me just how he'd earned his Mastery in Charms.

My spell wasn't as graceful or accurate, but it was definitely faster. I shot up like a bullet and managed to more or less go in the general direction of the platform. Filius had to catch me in mid-flight and I allowed him to levitate me and deposit me on the ground. It was all rather embarrassing.

"Interesting charm," he commented. "Self-propulsion is a remarkably difficult piece of magic. Keep practicing that, Harry. One day you will make it as reliable as a levitation spell." He grinned at me. "Who knows, maybe you'll stop flying around like a maniac on those brooms of yours."

We walked over the door I'd blasted off its hinges. The sight of Filius and the door together brought that feeling of guilt again. But I squashed it immediately and repaired the door with an impatient wave of my wand.

Since the room didn't look special in any way we headed towards the only other door that led somewhere other than the fire pit. Filius checked the doorknob for traps. The tip of his wand glowed a deep blue. He nodded confidently. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

The next room was definitely what we had been looking for – in one way, at least – but not at all what we'd expected.

I noticed something odd and wrong as soon as I stepped inside. It didn't take a particularly keen observer to do so. And it didn't take Filius', "Holy Mother of God," to spot it either.

Gravity didn't work.

It was a circular room, littered with objects drifting lazily from side to side. Anything that wasn't fixed to the floor or walls floated. Items bumped on the walls and changed their course, never losing their momentum. I stared, mesmerized, as a large mahogany desk in pristine condition soared right past me, bounced off the left wall, the ceiling and the ground, colliding with lit gas lamps, parchment, books and golden coins in its path, only to start anew.

"Well, this is…different," I commented. "What's going on here?" Filius didn't answer. I looked at him and noticed he was lost to the sight that met us. "You alright? What is this thing?"

"Time," Filius whispered distractedly, almost reverently, his tiny jaw slack and his mouth hanging slightly open.

And why did that sound vaguely ominous?

We moved slowly forward, trying to avoid the flying objects as much as we could. No easy task, really. I had to push aside the same large, yellowish bone twice.

We made it to the centre of the circular room and stopped. There were no doors leading away from the place. The way we came in was the only exit. I looked at the wooden door we'd come through. I was pretty sure we'd left it open, yet it was firmly shut. I noticed on this side it looked new, as if it had been freshly cut from a tree only a day ago. And my cloak, glasses and other items I had with me stayed firmly in place, unperturbed by the room's magic.

"Don't get me wrong," I said, "because I am grateful my underwear stays where it should be, but why exactly isn't our stuff affected by – well, by whatever this is?"

"I haven't the foggiest," Filius answered, his eyes still focused on the drifting objects. I looked at him, surprised at the choice of words and the lack of interest.

"Filius, buddy, pay attention. You all there? The clock and tome are supposed to be here somewhere. Do you think they're floating around with the rest of this garbage?"

His attention snapped back firmly into place and he slowly nodded. "Yes. Yes, I believe they should," he said. "This is, most likely, the very end of the complex. '_The Lord's lore shall be safe at thine home_'. And this looks remarkably like the personal quarters of a wizard of the past days." Filius' gaze settled on a chair that was slowly rotating on its spot. "Well, you know what I mean…"

I cracked a grin.

"Then let's find it," I said.

I chose one side to start with and Filius took the other. Every now and then I would see him staring vacantly at some object that glided past his face. I supposed the magic in place had to be fascinating for a scholar such as himself. Even I could appreciate the power and skill Dimassio must've possessed to create something like this. And if he did, then the odds of finding a time-travelling clock that actually worked had just increased tenfold.

I pushed past a mattress stuffed with feathers and looked around. The tome and clock remained as elusive as always. Any way I turned only inane objects caught my attention. The light of the still-working gas lamps reflected oddly off a few coins that moved slowly in a line, like a thin stream of floating gold that I had to slap away like bothersome flies.

My eyes settled on a small number of books that were being pushed against the wall by a cauldron, of all things. I walked closer and tossed aside the pleasant reminder of Severus Snape's death. I bent to inspect the books but heard a loud and distorted clanging noise.

I turned just in time to see the cauldron hit the ceiling and smash into pieces. Filius looked at me disapprovingly from the other side of the room. I shrugged. Who would've thought a cauldron made of pewter could be smashed apart?

But before our disbelieving eyes, the pieces blurred and seemed to melt. The liquid mass of molten pewter then reformed into the broken pieces and joined together. The cauldron looked as if I'd never smashed it and lazily resumed its fly around the room.

"I'll be damned!" Filius cried.

I looked warily at the other objects floating in the circular room. This place was starting to freak me out. Fascinating it may be, but I was beginning to think there was something deeply wrong here, more than just the lack of gravity. I sensed something distorted within the magic, something dead yet living, something so deeply unnatural it shouldn't exist.

Amidst the many useless books I couldn't hope to read I found one that stood out. Not by its elegance or cover, but by the lack of them in comparison to the rest. This had to be it – it had to be The tome. It consisted of a few pages of yellowed parchment sewn together with a thin thread of Acromantula silk dyed black.

"I think I got the tome, Filius," I called behind my back. Could this be it? It had to be. Maybe this would say where to find the clock. "Come 'ere and let's have a look."

"Good work," Filius said.

He started walking towards me. I snatched the book from thin air.

And I felt the air shift, the magic snap.

Every single object in the room fell, no longer able to defy gravity. I heard Filius yell and throw himself to the ground. I saw lamps, furniture, books and other pieces of the room's decoration smash to the ground, like puppets whose strings had been abruptly cut.

I managed to flick my wand and shield myself from the assortment of debris raining down on me. A whole wooden bookshelf would've crushed me had I been a little too slow. Filius hadn't been so quick but I didn't see any particularly heavy objects fall on his hard, little head.

I sat up a little shakily and stared at the chaos that was the room. There was everything everywhere. I shook my head. I was starting to dislike the place rather heartily. At least the unnatural magic had dissipated, though I had the feeling it'd be back as soon as we touched the clock.

"Filius, you okay?"

I tossed away the huge bookshelf and stood up. I could see the half-goblin's feet poking from under a silk-covered skin that had once served as a coverlet. He pushed the bedding off of him and looked up at me. There was oil on his hair and a few feathers had stuck in it. He didn't look too happy.

"One day," Filius said as he stood up and brushed himself off, "your overly-developed Seeker tendencies will lose you a couple of fingers. If there is one lesson you wish to learn from me and take to the past, Harry, is that you always, _always_ check for traps in articles of dubious origins."

I tried not to snicker. But what he said was something to think about. You'd think that after hunting Horcruxes for the better part of three years I would've developed some sense of caution. I hadn't, not too much. Hunting Voldemort's merry little pieces of soul had taught me many valuable lessons, but it would take me a few more nasty accidents to get to the point I find myself in right now.

"Duly noted," I said. "Now about the book…"

I found it lain at my feet. We settled down to inspect it more carefully. Surprisingly, it wasn't written in Old French. But not surprisingly, I couldn't read Old Hungarian script either. The writing looked elegant, with its series of sticks, circles and curves drawn accurately on the yellowed parchment, and not a single splotch of ink was out of place.

But it was no more understandable than the previous map.

"I can't make heads or tails of this thing, Filius," I said and slumped against the wall. "Let's forget about the instructions and summon the clock once and for all."

"Go ahead," he said unconcernedly. He turned a page of the old tome and adjusted his reading glasses. "But do remember what I said about your grabbing unpredictable objects."

I tried to summon the clock but I didn't know its proper name or what it looked like, which made it difficult. Maybe it was charmed and couldn't be summoned. Anyhow, I had no luck. I resigned myself to wait while Filius solved things his way.

Boredom overtook me quickly. I tapped my foot on the ground impatiently. Filius looked up, sighed and dove right back in to his precious book. I wasn't a man of idleness and patience. I tried to find something to entertain myself with but old Dimassio's room didn't help. I was usually good at reading people. I could tell this man hadn't been the type to waste time. The floating aside, everything looked normal, practical or valuable in an old-and-collectable sort of way.

I told Filius I'd try another search. He said, "Knock yourself out," and kept on reading without missing a beat. One had to wonder where the little bastard had learned Old Hungarian script.

I turned and drew my wand, ready to find that clock. If it was magical at all then I was sure I'd feel it or detect it, so I began by using revealing spells on the random pieces of useless objects littered around the room. The search showed no results, however. But I was undeterred. I knew there were spells used to mask magical signatures. Even the most powerful of enchantments could be concealed if the caster was strong enough.

Meanwhile Filius began reading certain passages aloud and occasionally commenting on things he found interesting. It didn't amount to much and the book never said where the clock was. We learned that Dimassio had been experimenting with sand. I snorted when I first heard it. Filius promptly corrected my notions and explained that there was a special kind of sand used in time-turners, and this clock probably used the same element, hence Dimassio's interest.

He also explained that Dimassio's journal – for that was what it was – contained his many experiments, where he would transfigure objects into something, would toy with different amounts of sand and would use the clock to rewind time as much as he wanted. Oddly enough, he never wrote down his experiences with time-travel itself.

I listened absent-mindedly as I worked. After my first failed attempt I tried levitating the assortment of crap. One by one they lifted off the ground as I inspected them and then left them hovering above my head.

After my last attempt failed I was pondering what to do next when I heard Filius mutter, "I wonder… Yes, it could be. But no, too farfetched…," and then he went back to reading but stopped his flow of comments.

I opened drawers, ripped apart the mattress stuffed with feathers, examined chests, sliced open linen sheets and even checked the walls, looking for a crevice on the rock that might suggest there were hidden rooms or hiding places. I found nothing.

"Harry," Filius called when I placed the objects on the ground again. His voice sounded calm and detached, as if he were preventing himself from getting his hopes up. "There are a few passages here you should see."

"Alright," I said. "Read it to me."

He cleared his throat, pushed his glasses up and began to read.

_"Entry # 97, 1393. My experiments have failed today. It seems most magic is unresponsive within the Clock. I have yet to find an alternative way of crafting such an exquisite and intrinsically magical sand. My best efforts have come quite close, yet the difference is vast, for a slight miscalculation while within the Clock could be catastrophic."_

"Interesting," I said. "What? Did I miss something?"

"Pay attention," Filius said.

_"Entry # 123, 1393. Today I celebrate my success, for I have found the Clock to be unique and thus far workable. The key is in the sand. I could not, by any means, duplicate it, but I shan't need to, for the room itself provides. Tomorrow I shall make the first of my many transitions. My young son shall be in charge of my people and the Clock, where he will wait until my return from the mysteries of the past."_

"His kid would wait inside... No, you – you can't possibly mean..." I looked around the room, trying to spot something, anything, that would confirm what Dimassio implied. "Is this it? Is this really it?"

"Yes, yes, I believe it is, Harry!" Filius said excitedly. "All the pieces fit. The room is circular, perfectly circular. You broke an object and it repaired itself, almost as if it'd never happened. These objects should be, not only on the ground, but decaying at the very least, if not completely rotten altogether. And yet this wood is solid and polished. Doesn't look a day older than two weeks to me!"

"Makes sense," I said, mostly to myself. "Who would put so much effort into making a circular room? Yes, it makes sense. This is why Dimassio retired here – not because of the Hundred Years' War, not because he was comfortable in his tunnels." I looked around in wonder at the ceiling and walls. "It's right here," I continued, slower this time, to make sure I followed my own train of thought, "Dimassio settled here because he wanted to study the clock. We are inside the clock – the whole room is the clock!"

My nature tended towards skepticism, but I couldn't help some hope from welling inside.

"I can't friggin' believe this one," I said, more to myself than Filius. He nodded anyway, frantically paging Dimassio's journal. "And there's no sand because we haven't transfigured anything yet." He nodded again and looked up, an expectant look on his face.

I understood. I pointed my wand at a gas lamp and gave it a flick. Nothing happened. I frowned. It had been a long time since I'd last failed a transfiguration.

Filius drew his own wand and tried. He failed too. "What the…"

"Maybe the magic is supposed to be active?" I suggested. "Like when we first came in and all this shit was floating about?" I remembered the unnatural feeling of the magic and how it had dissipated as soon as I touched the journal.

"Yes, yes, you're right," Filius said. "But how do we activate it?"

On a whim I walked over to him and grabbed the journal. I felt it at once. Something pulled at my energy and directed it at the parchment. I tried to fight it but it was over too quickly. The objects barely rose above the ground. The unnatural magic came back, pulsing unnaturally through the room. And I, still a bit dazed from being magically raped by an old journal, kicked the nearest drawer and it smashed against a wall, splintered and automatically repaired itself.

Filius grinned.

"Bastard charmed the parchment and tied it to the room," I said, a little surprised at how quickly I'd figured it out. "Felt like a...like a switch. I bet he was tired of ink flying all over the place when he tried to write his findings."

"Good work, good work!" Filius said enthusiastically, unconsciously reverting to his teaching habits.

"And next," I said and pointed my wand at the lamp. It morphed into a black cat. "Yes!"

Filius echoed my sentiments. But soon I noticed there wasn't any sand. The cat looked scared out of its wits, too. The hair on its back stood on end and he began thrashing and yowling as if it were in pain. For a moment I just stared at the cat in confusion as the clock's magic levitated the spitting beast, the annoying screeching ringing in my ears.

"Merlin," Filius cried. He quickly whipped out his wand and vanished the poor cat.

"Thank God," I said. "What the hell was wrong with it? Jesus fucking Christ." I plucked my pinkie into my ear and wiggled it. "Anyway, that obviously didn't work. What's our next option?" But Filius didn't answer. I turned to look at him. He was staring at something behind me. "Filius?"

I followed his gaze and found a small amount of sand piled neatly where my companion had vanished the cat.

Then pieces started to fall into place; clothes and other items we brought inside the room were unaffected by its magic because they weren't part of the enchantment; some objects in the room, not the gold and books, were originally sand, from which Dimassio had transfigured his material goods; I was willing to bet that the mass of the cat I'd transfigured was similar or exactly the same as the mass of the total amount of sand I was staring at, which meant we could choose how further back we'd travel by deciding how many objects to vanish; the gas lamps, the furniture, the wood and the bedding were in perfect condition because they were encased in time, for the room kept its sand and air unperturbed, which could also explain the written documents found by historians that reported Dimassio had lived well past one hundred fifty years old.

"This is it," I whispered, a little dazed by our sudden success. "We found it, we did it. Here it is. We can do it; I can finally go back and make this work."

Filius stood up and slowly approached the pile of sand. Gently, almost lovingly, he waved his wand over it, and smiled when the tip of his wand turned a dark purple.

"It's the sand, Harry! The time-turners' sand!" he said. "I bet this is where it all came from. No one ever knew…couldn't duplicate it… Dimassio must've been careless and left some outside the room."

I didn't particularly care for Dimassio and his little fetish with sand right now.

"Come on, Filius, let's do this."

I'd thought he would say we had time to spare, or that we could do it slowly and well, without rushing things to avoid any mistakes. But the little man was a bundle of energy. He waved his wand in an arc above his head and the floating objects quickly drifted towards one side of the circular room.

He was forced to keep them just above the floor. Apparently the hovering pieces refused to touch the ground. It looked like they did, but they bounced off less than an inch away before actually making contact with the rock.

I flicked my wand and transfigured the sand the cat had left behind into a stack of brown feathers. A quick test ensured the door was properly closed. The magic pulsed stronger through the room, as if it were sentient and could tell what was about to happen.

"So how does this work?" I asked once everything was in place.

"We need to measure the amount of sand we need," he said. "Regular time-turners usually carry forty grams of it. Each hour you intend to travel back uses one gram. That amount, in turn, is filtered through the time-piece and powered by your magical core when you come into contact with the chain or time-turner."

Filius quickly pulled out a piece of parchment and transfigured himself a chair and a desk to write on. He scribbled furiously as I paced around the room, impatient to get to work.

"Let's see," he said, still writing and not looking up. "The target is 1980, the year before your parents were murdered. The precise date isn't important, only the year. So that's 252, give or take a month or two…a little over 7500 days, more or less…and, yes, we need about 400 pounds to make it work."

"You're fast," I said, impressed. "You transfigure us a scale and I'll vanish."

He nodded and we set to work.

We soon noticed, however, that not every object turned to sand when vanished. In fact, only a few of them did. It seemed Dimassio had brought in some furniture, books and other items from outside to make himself more comfortable, and those wouldn't produce the sand we needed. We managed to find little over 900 pounds of it. Filius said the furthest back we could travel if we used everything would be around fifty years.

In short order we had the four hundred pounds of sand ready and piled at the middle of the room. I had my Mokeskin pouch fully stocked with everything I thought I'd need. I double-checked its contents while Filius paced around the room, his long fingers rubbing his tiny chin.

"To activate the clock Dimassio would simply close the door and burn the sand," he said and kept walking. "Do you know how to cast Gubraithian fire?" I nodded. "Good. I guess that is all, Harry."

I frowned. I didn't like that air of finality he had about him.

"What are you on about?" I asked.

He looked sad, resigned. It reminded me of how he'd acted after I'd drowned the sea of fire in the ante-chamber to the clock.

"I can't go, Harry," he said. I saw how much it cost him to say it. The half-goblin had been dreaming about this moment for months. "We don't know what will happen if two of us make the leap. Dimassio always worked alone and I don't think we should risk something going wrong."

"But... No, Filius, forget it. You're coming with me," I said resolutely. "I am not going through that shit again without someone who knows what happened." Filius shook his head and started to collect his things. I was getting nervous. "Oh, come on, Fil! What could possibly go wrong?"

"Many things, Harry. Time is not something you play with."

"But why me then? Why can't you go back?" I said. "All you have to do is warn Dumbledore and my parents. As long as Neville and I aren't marked by the prophecy anyone can kill Voldemort! Just go and live your life."

He smiled sadly. "I enjoyed getting to know you, Harry. Prophecy or not, there is something special about you, and I'm not one to leave the fate of our world in the hands of chance." He walked up to me and patted me on the elbow. I looked at him pleadingly. "Go make us proud, kid. If anyone can do it it's you. And go find me when you go back. I'm sure my other self will be pleased to meet you."

And he walked away. Suddenly our journey became my journey. I was to do everything again, from the start, with no one to understand how fragile our resistance had been and what I'd had to do since Voldemort's second uprising began. No one would know how Hermione took a killing curse meant for Minerva; how Neville, terrified out of his wits, mounted a piece of shit of a broom to divert a dragon's attention away from Hogwarts; how the few Professors the school had left mounted a defence for the students to escape; how Dennis fucking Creevey stood up to fucking Voldemort himself to save my life and got torn to pieces for his trouble...

Filius stopped at the door and gave me one last look. I saw the resolve on his face and I knew he couldn't be convinced. What would happen to him? What would happen to this timeline? Would he spend the rest of his life wondering how I did, spending his nights alone in some cave in the middle of nowhere, huddled under the warmth of a few blankets as the Empire widened its horizons and life as he knew it died?

There was no way that would happen. I would have never forgiven myself.

"Filius, stop," I said, not the least bit surprised by how calm and authoritative I sounded.

My mind was made up. He turned away from the open door and as I walked towards him I pulled out my wand. I saw his eyes widen.

"You're not going anywhere, Fil. This is your chance. This was always your chance."

"Harry, please don't force my hand," he said, and he pulled out his wand too, but kept it pointed at the side. "Let us part on friendly terms. I do not wish to harm you."

It was my turn to look at him sadly. I would've been fucking proud to call the little bastard a friend.

"Drop your wand, Filius," I said. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. But make no mistake, you will have your second chance."

The moment he sighed and shook his head I knew I'd have to fight for this. He wouldn't just give in and do as I said. He started saying, "Be reasonable, Harry, please. You will finally meet your –" but I snapped off three quick, silent stunners. The half-goblin was fast and an expert and a shield flickered to existence. My spells bounced off but he was still hesitant to counter-attack while I had no qualms about knocking him unconscious if I had to.

I pointed my wand straight and started walking towards him. The Clock lit up with different colours as my spells whistled through the air and hammered on his barrier. My wand was a blur; objects were dragged from an unseen force away from me; Filius realized I was cornering him and I caught a glimpse of his next move in his eyes.

He slashed his wand up and my incoming spells crashed harmlessly on the ceiling. Through the dust and debris that fell I saw Filius point his wand at the ground. There came the pop I'd been expecting and he jumped high into the air, higher than he could've hoped to jump without magic. But I already knew he would do that. He had underestimated me again. The moment he was shooting past above my head I violently lashed out.

His stunner flew off the mark and his back was slammed against the ceiling. The force was enough to incapacitate him and I gently lowered his body to the ground, where he lay unmoving, the look of panic I'd seen on his face replaced by the peaceful features of an unconscious man.

"I'm sorry, buddy," I whispered to the empty room. "I really am. But you deserve this chance as much as I do. We can do it together. It'll be me and you, me and you."

I began waving my wand in an intricate pattern and the walls and ceiling began to pulse with energy, recognizing what was coming. The tip of my wand glowed a fiery red as I pointed it down. A torrent of gold and red fire surged forward and enveloped the time-turner's sand.

The walls and the ground shook, the objects lifted off the ground and spun dazzlingly fast, close to the ceiling, which started to crack ominously. I crouched down next to Filius and looked up, alarmed, thinking I'd cast the Gubraithian fire wrong. I felt something tugging at my magic. I had somewhat depleted my core but I still had some juice left, and my power swirled aggressively against the intrusion.

But the clock didn't relent. It was too strong for me to hold off. I felt something being ripped away from me. I felt Filius' body shaking next to me and I guessed he was experiencing the same odd feeling I was. The walls began to spin. The sand spit and crackled angrily on the ground as the ever-lasting fire burned around it. I knew I'd pass out any second now.

The four hundred pounds of magical sand exploded in a shower of glittering crystals. I was thrown violently to the ground, where I remained stuck next to Filius, my limbs suddenly unresponsive. I tasted blood in my mouth. And as the grains of sand slowly fell over me and the light began to dim I started to laugh, a hoarse and hysterical laugh of triumph, of knowing I'd succeeded and together we were leaving the nightmare behind.


	3. Remember Me

Disclaimer: Don't own HP. No profit being made.

**A Clock on the Face of Hell**

**Chapter 2: Remember Me**

_There is something uniquely beautiful about time-travel, something that pulls you to it; a concept so stunning, so perfect that it is often only the mind that gets to play with it. It's the dream of romantics, the muse of writers and the hope of those of us who regret; yet it is so dangerous intellectuals quiver in fear over its paradoxes._

East of Paris, under Lac du Der-Chantecoq, in Eclaron-Braucourt-Sainte-Livière, France, something stirred. It was so deep under the lake that none but Merfolk noticed the subtle shaking of the ground. Yet many felt a sudden shift in the ambience magic, which most shrugged off as a ward being cast in their neighborhood, while researchers stared dumbly at their monitoring devices, wondering about the sudden drops in their readings.

A witch or wizard deeply tuned with the feeling of magic would notice a trend – a direction, if you will. A few wizards in Eastern France would later tell of how one day magic went west, while other civilians in Paris would disagree, arguing magic went east. Only a select group of individuals would successfully pin-point the subtle rearrangement of forces.

Under the lake an explosion shook the earth and the peaceful waters above rippled. Ignoring the Laws of Physics, a small, circular object that resembled a ring appeared inside a gap in the rock. It began to expand. Slowly, very slowly, its mass inexplicably grew as the ring pushed in all directions, and the rock cracked and splintered.

The steady roar of displaced earth came to a stop and all was still. On the lake bed Merfolk poked their heads from inside their strange stone houses and looked around cautiously. Wizards and witches on the surface hadn't felt the tremor but the magic that had momentarily captured their attention dissipated. Thinking it had been just an unusually strong ward they went about their boring, selfish lives.

Inside the ring – the Clock – I woke up to silence and darkness. I didn't know the date. I didn't know the time. I couldn't even tell if it was day or night. My body felt heavy and my head light. I felt rather than saw Filius' body lying next to me.

I blinked groggily and blindly groped for my wand. The Clock was dark save for the dim light of the grains of sand, tiny pinpricks of red still burning hot. I decided to stay the hell away from those. The material they were made of was unknown and I didn't know what side-effects we could possibly suffer from after breathing the sand's burning fumes. What I did know was that I wouldn't be stepping inside this damn Clock again anytime soon.

Under the light of my wand the room came into view, with its objects littered all over the place. I remembered seeing the ceiling crack and the walls spinning before I passed out. All was in one piece though, and unless I was mistaken, the rock that surrounded me looked…new, as if the Clock had been freshly made only hours ago.

"Come on, Filius. Wake up, damn it," I whispered.

The half-goblin wasn't snoring pleasantly but he didn't look like he'd be waking up shortly either. I decided I would side-along him and deal with his little temper tantrum elsewhere. It surprised me to realize I was looking forward to it and to exploring this new time with him. Maybe this was one of the side-effects from that sand.

Before I could grab him and apparate, however, I heard shouts in the distance. I frowned. I had thought we had travelled back in time and arrived at exactly the same place we had left from. But if that were the case then there was no reason for somebody to be lurking around these underground tunnels, bypassing the admittedly solid defences and looking for something that had no business being found.

I stood up slowly, wincing as my back popped, and conjured a few balls of light to hover ahead of me as I walked towards the door. I opened it carefully and looked around the next room. It was empty and dark. My lights flooded the room and the voices I'd heard became louder. I crossed the length of the room and pressed my ear against the next door, listening alertly, slowing my breathing so as to not miss anything.

There were voices alright, and they definitely sounded human. I couldn't tell how many there were but I identified at least two of them, both male and probably young. I thought them to be curse-breakers, archeologists or simply amateurs looking for thrills.

I _noxed_ my lights out and stealthily cracked open the door. The first thing I noticed was the darkness and the glowing globe of light hovering on the other side of the cavern. There was no sign whatsoever of the Gubraithian fire I'd had to extinguish. As far as I knew an enchantment I'd dispelled in the present should've been working in the past…

I had been partly right about these people. Under the light of their charms I could see not two but four men, their ages probably between twenty and forty. One of them had a piece of parchment in his hands and was arguing with another while the other two remained silent.

The language was definitely not English, and it didn't sound like French either. It sounded harsh on the lips of the man with the parchment, like a series of commands or a severe reprimand, and it echoed around the large cavern. I was getting a bad feeling about this.

I considered going back and forcing Filius to wake up. His knowledge on history was undoubtedly better than mine, and if there was an instance in time where someone had come close to reaching the Clock, and if that instance had been documented, then Filius had probably read all about it. But at the time it seemed pointless. I didn't know who these men were and what they were trying to accomplish.

I decided I'd watch them from the shadows and call Filius if it became necessary. It's not like I couldn't have handled four wizards by myself.

The blonde man that was getting his head chewed off nodded and looked down, muttering something that sounded like an apology. He was huge, easily four heads taller than me, and his shoulders were almost as wide as Filius was tall. Maybe he was a half-giant, though that put in doubt my theory of them being Death Eaters.

The apparent leader somehow managed to stare down at that giant of a man into silence. I waited impatiently for something to happen so they would leave. But they had to be here for the Clock. Maybe I should've left and let them have a go at it. I was pretty sure they'd never find it.

I was considering whether to leave or to stun them and erase their memories when they moved. There was that harsh voice again, a command given, and one moment they were standing on a platform and the next they were floating towards me. Across the distance I could barely make out some kind of cloth underneath their feet, flapping in a non-existent wind, visible by the light from their glowing spheres that followed hovering above them. They were half-way to my position when I broke out of my reverie and made up my plan.

I was disillusioned and pressing against the wall beside the door when they stepped down the flying carpet and onto the rock platform. From up close I noticed they were wearing uniforms. The one with the map was clearly the leader. He was wearing a tight, black robe with silver chips on his shoulders. The huge, blonde, pale man, probably the second in command, wore the same robes but his chips were bronze.

The other two wore black robes and a red armband around their biceps. Their nervous expressions and uncomfortable shifting suggested they were Muggles, a theory I confirmed when I noticed they were carrying handguns strapped on brown belts over their robes.

Muggles and their guns… They never learned.

I looked at the four of them as they in turn checked the door for enchantments. My original plan had been to stun them, remove their memories and drop them off at some pub in Paris. But now that I'd seen they belonged to some wizarding army I was curious. I wanted to know which country they served and what they intended to do with that Clock from Hell.

Mindful of Filius lying unconscious inside the Clock I moved quickly. The four of them were focused on the scan. The first Muggle looked scared but determined while the leader waved his wand at the door and sparks jumped away from it. I stealthily positioned myself behind him and drew my wand.

One tap with it on the man's neck, a small spark of red light and he went slack. His knees gave out and I caught him by his cloak before the noise alerted the others. Less than an hour ago, in another Time, I would've probably killed this man. But I didn't know what I was up against or who these men were, so I simply dragged the Muggle back and laid him down on the ground. He wouldn't be moving anytime soon.

The second Muggle was trickier. He had been standing too close to the others. The moment I saw him step back and furtively crick his neck, however, I discreetly stunned him too. I dropped him beside the other Muggle and moved closer to the other two.

But I was too late. The leader turned, a question for the Muggles on his lips, and froze when he found them unconscious a few feet back. His reflexes saved him from my stunner, which hit the door instead and fizzled out, as he rolled on the ground and came up with wand at the ready.

The blonde rhinoceros narrowed his eyes and looked back and forth, trying to find me. I neatly managed to sidestep a barrage of spells the leader blindly fired and retaliated with a wide-area bludgeoner. The leader brought up a quick shield but my spell hit like a sledgehammer. He was thrown violently against the wooden door, which cracked and was torn off its hinges, and landed somewhere inside the dark ante-chamber of the Clock. The hovering globes of light vanished and he didn't get up.

I lit the tip of my wand and noticed that at some point my body had become visible again. I assumed the half-giant managed to hit me with the correct revealing spell. Apparently my wide-area hammer had hit him too, but unlike his partner, the blonde man only staggered back a few steps before shrugging it off.

The half-giant charged at me. I couldn't see a wand in his hands but that didn't mean he couldn't push me over the edge or break my neck with his fingers. I planted my feet firmly on the ground and bent my knees to absorb the recoil of my next spell. The pale bastard kept running straight at me and roaring a steady war cry.

A brief flashback of Greyback charging at me ran through my head. I used the same spell I had then. The half-giant saw no wand movement, no words, only power. The tip of my wand went from white to a bright yellow and the cave lit up. I kept the build up for as long as I could. The man was close, almost ten feet away, when I released the pent up energy.

Lightning flashed golden and pure, a zigzag of deadly electricity that had incapacitated a transformed werewolf for over three hours. The man charging furiously at me hesitated, his eyes wide in the bright light of my spell, and brought his hands up to cover his face. When the spell connected with them the half-giant yelled angrily and violently spread his arms apart.

I remember muttering, "What the fuck…"

He was momentarily enveloped in a dome of blue, crackling energy, through which I saw his hands – no, not his hands, but the gauntlets he was wearing – glowing the same colour of the sphere. The fork of lightning exploded back against me in a wall of energy and a shower of painful, yellow bolts.

Too surprised, too confused, I was unprepared for the backlash. It struck dead on my chest and I was tossed bodily like a rag doll. Pain shot through my system like needles poking me everywhere. I landed on my back, skidded on the rough rocks of the platform and rolled backwards. Abruptly the ground ended and I felt myself falling, and through a haze of disorientation and pain I barely managed to hold on to the edge.

Heavy footsteps came closer. I couldn't think straight; my focus was solely on my hands and making sure I didn't slip and fall. I saw the head of the blonde man appear above me as he leaned forward to take a look. He crouched down and grabbed one of my forearms firmly, almost painfully, and I couldn't stop myself from relaxing the grip of my other hand on the rock.

The half-giant spoke, but I couldn't understand him. He was going to drop me any moment, I was sure. His lips moved, his moustache twitched, yet not one of his words reached me clearly through the ringing of my ears and my disorientation.

But it seemed he was patient. He was still treating me warily, like an enemy or an unknown, as he should've after he saw I'd incapacitated his three companions, but he hadn't squeezed me to death yet.

He abruptly stood up and with only one hand gripping my forearm he lifted my whole body above the level of the platform until I was level with his head, an impressive nine or ten feet off the ground, my legs dangling uselessly in the air. My chest flared with pain. I felt my bruised ribs being stretched and I could tell my nerve endings had been damaged by the sudden jolt of electricity.

Through my pain I managed to keep my head from lolling down and I wasn't surprised to see his face didn't look like Hagrid's; friendly, naïve, with the corner of his eyes wrinkled from laughing. This man looked cold and brutal, like you'd expect a giant to be. His eyes held none of that malevolence I'd expected, however.

"English?" he asked, and this time I understood.

"Yes," I wheezed.

The cobwebs in my mind were starting to clear. I began thinking of my escape, of some way to incapacitate or kill the man; after that hit I'd taken I wasn't willing to give these men the benefit of the doubt.

"Who are you?" he asked, some thick accent butchering the language.

"Who are _you_?" I countered.

The half-giant fell silent, regarding me with cold blue-grey eyes. I glared right back at him while my mind worked a mile a minute.

He was too strong for me to kick. If I managed to make him drop me I would fall, and it was a long way down. My wand was on the platform, out of my reach, resting innocently against an outcropping of rock. I had many spares I'd stolen over the years, most in my Mokeskin pouch, but there was one in a holster strapped around my chest, concealed under my black robe.

With surprising speed he wrapped his other hand around my throat and squeezed; not much, just enough to let me know he could crush my windpipe if he so chose to.

"How are you here? Who are you?" he asked again, and this time he sounded forceful, dangerous.

I swallowed painfully; he was holding me quite tightly. The thought of answering the question momentarily crossed my mind, but on some ridiculous notion of pride I didn't. Instead my hands came up and I tried to fight him off, knowing full well that I'd fall, but counting on my spare wand to soften the landing.

The blonde man didn't even flinch. I dug my nails into his skin, drawing blood, but he didn't look down, his cold eyes still fixed to mine, and waiting for my answer.

Somewhere behind the half-giant's back a silver light shone dimly.

It happened fast.

My captor noticed I'd stopped struggling and the direction I was looking. He turned, twisting his torso around and moving me away from the edge a few inches in the process. The glow I'd noticed suddenly became a concentrated jet of silver light that struck the man holding me on his side. He bent and roared in pain.

I was flung violently down the abyss.

"Harry!" I heard, and recognized Filius' panicked voice.

I yelled something incoherent in response. The wind whipped past me, drowning every other sound as the ground rushed up to meet me. I tried to reach my wand but my robe was flapping madly. I was turning wildly in mid-air, playing that game where you tempt the rock with your head and then your feet.

It must've taken me less than four seconds to pull out the spare, yet the moment felt longer. When the wand was resting in my hand I pointed it at where I thought the ground to be and cried, _"Infitialis."_

The wind rushing past me and the mad flapping of my robes slowly stopped. I lit the tip of the wand with the dimmest light I could manage and looked around, panting hard.

I was twelve feet above the ground. It had been a close call. If I looked up I could see the flashes of curses being thrown around. When I released the hold of my spell I landed on the ground with a dull thump that went unnoticed amidst the roaring cries of the half-giant and the shaking rock from Filius' spells.

Were it almost any other opponent I would've trusted the dueling champion to take care of things. As it were, however, I had my doubts. I had to get on that platform as soon as possible. Getting Filius killed within the first hour of our trip wasn't part of my plan.

The flash of a purple spell illuminated the cave for a split-second and I caught a glimpse of the flying carpet these men had used. It was perfect. Somehow this device worked inside the cave while our brooms hadn't.

I pointed my wand at it and summoned it towards me. The magic weaved into the cloth tried to resist my pull. A corner of my brain was impressed by the spell work. Soon I tired of its resistance and whipped my wand while I added a little extra something to the _Accio._

The carpet was yanked out of its position and quickly descended until it was hovering in front of me. I leapt onto it without hesitating and thought of where I wanted it to go. With much faltering and little grace I managed to make it float slowly up. I could've gotten up there ten times faster using my broom, but this was all I had.

When I was level with the platform I saw Filius in all his glory. It was an interesting duel between two opponents that were as different as could be. The half-giant – huge, slow and powerful – charged at the half-goblin with his gauntlets flashing different shades of blue, while my friend – small, fast and skilled – dodged gracefully from side to side, occasionally using his magic to propel himself in the air and land a solid hit on the blonde's head.

I had long ago learned not to play fair. You win more often when you cheat.

I jumped off the carpet and on the platform. The half-giant spotted me out of the corner of his eye. Filius threw a severing curse at his head, which the man deflected with his gauntlets, and while the half-goblin was forced to dodge his own spell the blonde charged at me again.

I smiled grimly into his cold eyes. He didn't stop. The ground shook with every step that hammered the rock. I started a wand movement for a bone-breaker and I saw a glimmer of satisfaction on his face.

But this time I was ready; I usually don't make the same mistakes twice. At the last possible moment I slashed my wand down and I was pushed off the ground. The half-giant, dumbfounded, watched as I flew over his head. I brought my wand down and put all I had behind my spell, which hit him squarely in the face and sent him careening against a wall.

I somehow landed firmly on my feet. The impact of the huge man against the wall brought a cloud of dust and debris raining down on him. Filius glanced at me, surprised and relieved, while I pointed my wand at the half-giant.

"Twitch so much as a finger and I'll kill you," I said.

Through his curtain of dirty blonde hair I saw his eyes regarding me furiously. I smirked at him and walked forward. I would be getting my answers now, whether he cooperated or not. I could be a right bastard when people refused to talk.

"Who are you and what the fuck are you doing here?" I stopped fifteen feet away from him, aware of just how long his arms were and how quick he could be with them. "Answer me!"

Filius came to stand next to me and supported his weight on my arm. The small man looked knackered and he had a grim look on his face. It would be bed and potions for him when we got out of here. I looked at him but he averted his eyes. I could sense the chewing off wouldn't be long now.

The half-giant ignored my questions and tried to get to his feet. I was starting to think maybe he wasn't very smart, or perhaps my bludgeoners had left a mark after all. Either way I narrowed my eyes at him, aimed straight and calmly said, _"Imperio."_

The feeling of control never came. My consciousness stayed firmly in place and the blonde gave me a superior look.

"Giant blood," Filius said in a tone someone uses to explain the obvious. "Mind control is rarely possible with them."

"Beautiful."

I suddenly noticed the way my quarry was moving his hands. He was fingering those gauntlets surreptitiously and distracting me with the movement of his arms and legs. I raised my wand again, an incantation on my lips.

My torrent of fire flew straight at him, lighting up the cave in blood-red. I heard Filius gasp. But there was a blue flash around the half-giant and he vanished. My jet of flames slammed against the rock harmlessly and I stopped the flow of fire with a brief twitch of my wand.

"Damn!" I said.

I had so far spent an hour in this time and that bastard had fooled me twice. Shame on me, I guess.

"Impossible," Filius whispered with a frown. "The complex is layered with protections. How did he portkey out?" He looked at me. "And you shouldn't have been able to fly that carpet either."

I ignored the inconsistency for now and instead asked, "You okay, Filius?" He waved me off distractedly and walked away. He sat on a flat rock with a muffled sigh. "Seriously, you look dead on your feet."

He glared at me and said, "Don't talk to me right now, Potter."

Maybe he was a little pissed off.

"Alright, whatever suits you," I said. "But for the record I –"

"What part of 'shut up' did you not understand?" he interrupted. "I do not want to hear your reasons. I do not want to hear your voice. Keep quiet while I think about our situation." He looked away resolutely and added, "A situation you brought about, imbecile."

I nodded hesitantly, summoned my holly wand and went about rounding up our foreigners.

The platform had taken a serious beating. There were pieces of jagged rock strewn all over the place and a blanket of dust had fallen over the ground. The edges of it had broken, resulting in the platform looking smaller. A corner of my brain realized it now looked similar to the one we'd left behind in our time.

To my displeasure I found the Muggles to be missing. I had left them lying somewhere around there and Filius shortly told me he had moved them against the wall when he had stepped out to face the man holding me. But they had vanished, probably using a portkey. Most likely we missed the blue flash because of the half-giant's presence. I found the traces of the portkey but I couldn't tell how it had been activated.

I walked over the door I had now twice blasted off its hinges and found the ante-chamber for the Clock to be empty as well. And again I found traces of a used portkey but not how it had been activated. Frustrated and knowing we had reached a dead end with our prisoners gone, I tried to pin-point the location the magic had travelled to. It was a remarkably difficult feat of spell-unweaving, one I didn't have much experience with.

A thick cloud of white smoke slowly poured out of my wand. It dropped to the ground and moved erratically, coiling around tendrils of magic that had been recently cast. The smoke lingered in the air and I saw a cylindrical void that I took to be my bludgeoner. But the portkey traces were faint, almost unrecognizable, and I concluded someone very skilled had taken the trouble of making the enchantment untraceable. At best I could say the person had travelled southeast from where I stood.

When I went to join Filius he noticed my frustrated look. All he asked was "The other is gone too?", and when I nodded he went back to his thinking, ignoring me completely.

This was definitely not how I had imagined my trip to the past to be. I had thought it would be easy; make the leap, find Dumbledore, warn him about the attack on my parents and make sure nobody was 'marked as his equal.' A solid plan, that's for sure, one that I'd came up with in two to three minutes and had gone wrong before it could even begin to take shape.

Now here I sat, staring at my only companion, my only ally, who did his best to convince himself I didn't exist. My first battle, a battle I should've won easily, had gone wrong too, and the three prisoners I'd managed to secure had escaped, all because I hadn't checked if the anti-portkey and anti-apparition wards were still in place.

I usually enjoy silences, and back then I could even fall into reflection every so often, but there were too many things to discuss. Filius' silence was stretching for too long.

"Any idea what time we are in?" I asked. I was sitting against the wall beside the door to the ante-chamber and Filius had his back to me. "The Clock worked, right?"

He ignored me.

"Come on, Fil," I said. "How long are you going to hold this one over me?"

I heard him sigh wearily but he still didn't answer or turn around. I stood up and walked around him. A wave of my wand and I sat down on a conjured chair. Filius' face was wrinkled in a frown. I thought he looked sad, resigned.

"What's wrong? Isn't this what you always wanted? You said so yourself. You said you wanted to live in untroubled times."

He finally looked up and said, "We don't even know what time this is."

It was my turn to frown.

"Well, we should find out then," I said, trying to bring some action into our short-term plans. "I think we've been inside this bloody cave long enough. Let's get out of here, see where we are. Find out what's going on. You know, just generally get a grip on the situation."

Filius shook his head. "You have no idea what you've done, do you?" he said tiredly. "Did you even think about the possible consequences of throwing us both together into the past? Did you stop to think that the effects of the Clock could vary depending on how many people were inside it?"

I had thought about it…in a way. I'd thought about how much Filius wanted to make the trip, though I didn't fully understand why he was so hesitant about doing so. I'd thought about how Filius was worried about paradoxes or some such, hence the reason for travelling to a time before I was even born. I'd thought about how having company would've been a nice change, how otherwise Filius would've died alone in the future, how my past would've died with me.

And I had almost been able to imagine the look on my parents' faces when someone told them they were going to be a mum and dad…

"I guess I didn't think about it very much," I confessed. "But what is so important that could have you all worked up, Filius? Surely nothing so serious. I mean, we made the leap and we're both in one piece. And we know for sure we travelled _somewhere…_"

Filius stood up abruptly and began to pace in front of me.

"Yes, we travelled somewhere," he said. "And yes, we don't know the time. But do you remember what I told you about how the clock worked? About how a magical core powered the sand?" I winced. I had forgotten about that. "Ah, so now you see the problem. Fantastic, Potter, absolutely fantastic."

"So you mean our calculations were off?" I asked.

He glared at me. "No, _my_ calculations weren't off. Your actions on the other hand…" He pulled out his wand and began tapping it on his palm as he walked and spoke his mind. "With both of us inside, the Clock received twice the energy. In fact, for all we know, the input could have been exponential."

"I understand, Fil. But what's the big problem then? We're here to strike Voldemort down," I pointed out reasonably. "So what if we get to kill Tom Riddle instead? It'll be the same thing. In fact, it'll probably be easier now that he's younger."

"But we don't know just how young he is," Filius insisted as he kept walking in circles. "You have to understand that the further back you make a change, the bigger its consequences will be. Besides, whatever action we take in 1981 wouldn't have changed the fact that you were born. For all we know, a small change now could mean your father dies or is never born. If he isn't around…"

That had never occurred to me. I never pretended to understand the mechanics involved in time-travel, but based on all I'd heard, I used to think paradoxes happened when the past version of yourself saw you lurking around with a pocket watch around your neck. At least that's what Hermione had once told me, and I had never bothered reading further into the matter. But having to tread carefully, otherwise I'd never be born? That was on a whole new level.

"Is this what you meant by 'avoiding paradoxes'?" I asked.

"Yes, that is exactly it."

He stopped his anxious pacing and sat down on the flat rock again. I thought he looked slightly relieved I'd finally understood some of his concerns and the problem I'd potentially created for the both of us. Filius let out an explosive sigh and looked at me through tired eyes. I got the sense that he was preparing himself for something unpleasant.

"I saw the ones you stunned, the other three," he said. "It was dark so I did not get a good look. What were they wearing and what language were they speaking? Describe them for me, please. As accurately as you can."

"Right, let's see," I said. "I didn't recognize the language, definitely not French though. Um, the leader was wearing a black cloak with silver fastenings here and there. The other two were Muggles, I think. Strange black uniforms and red armbands. They were carrying guns, too."

"Muggles and guns?" Filius repeated blankly. "Wizards with Muggles and guns…oh, dear…" His wand clattered to the ground and he seemed to shrink before my very eyes. "Potter, what have you done…" he trailed off in a whisper.

His back hunched, shoulders slumped, and a haunted look crossed his face. Alarmed, I stood up and went to kneel in front of him. Filius stared at me with a horrified look on his face.

"What? What?" I asked. Filius seemed to be on the verge of collapsing. "Come on, what is it?"

When he spoke next his voice wavered.

"The – the muggles," he said. "What was the armband like? Was it a white circle with a black drawing on it?"

I had no idea what the big deal was, but my companion's behaviour was giving me a deep sense of dread I couldn't shake off.

I remembered the Muggles and their black robes. I remembered spotting the red armband, which had also had a white circle and strange symbols drawn in black on it. A picture of the same symbol drawn in a textbook filtered through my brain. I thought I remembered it being called a swastika.

Unsettled now, I said slowly, "It rings a bell…" He looked at me impatiently. "Yes, black and white. Both of them were wearing it. Why?"

Filius paled. His blue eyes widened and I saw a thin sheen of sweat on his wrinkled face and the roots of his wispy, white beard. He then took off his hat, revealing an untangled mass of grayish hair, and shakily placed it on his lap.

"How good is your history?" he asked.

It became clear he wouldn't collapse so I stood up, wincing as I discovered my legs had gone numb, and sat back down in the chair I'd conjured. I answered, "Not terribly good actually. Somewhat sketchy on Goblin rebellions."

Filius frowned and asked, "How about wizard history of the twentieth century? Human history, that is, of before you were born."

"Well, I know Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald…"

"That is it?" he asked sharply. "Five or six years of History classes and that is all you ever learned?"

"Well, yeah," I said slowly, uncomfortable about my questionable education being once again brought to the spotlight. "But don't blame me. That midget of a ghost chose the topics. It was bad, really bad. And to be honest, that part about Albus and Grindelwald I first read in a Chocolate Frog card."

It frustrated me that my attempt to lighten the mood didn't work very well. He didn't laugh or smile at the joke. Instead, his eyes narrowed and he tightly gripped the old black hat on his lap.

"This is no time for jokes, Potter," he said. "Those two Muggles weren't civilians, or whatever it is your mind came up with."

"I see," I said coolly. Filius' attitude was grating on my nerves. I wasn't feeling awfully sorry for slamming him against the ceiling at the moment. "So pray tell, Filius, what is so bad about red armbands and Muggles with guns? The mystery is killing me here."

"That's a Nazi armband!" Filius hissed. "You moron, Potter… You – you brought us to the forties!"

"Huh?"

"Huh? _Huh_? _That's_ your eloquent response? HUH?" Filius breathed heavily. "We were supposed to go to the eighties and save your parents. Instead, you brought us both to the forties, where not only there's You-Know-Who to worry about, but Grindelwald as well. And the Nazis. And Adolf Hitler, too."

I had heard about Nazis somewhere, probably in Muggle Primary school. My knowledge was spotty at best, though. I remembered concentration camps, a world war and Adolf Hitler, quaintly labeled the sum of all evil. Maybe Hermione had said something about Nazis being similar to pureblood supremacists, too. It didn't sound so good, but at the moment I thought nothing could be worse than Death Eaters.

I said so to Filius.

A mistake.

He didn't yell at me anymore; he was past that point. This one seemed to take the air under his wings and he sat back down and kept shaking his head, saying this like, "…we're done…", "…one change and the world dies…" or "…and I'm stuck here with this reckless idiot…"

Part of me knew I couldn't blame him for being a little pissed off. Filius was the type that stopped to think, planned and only acted once he had all the specifics down. It was just how his brain worked. I knew leaving that routine to the side made him anxious, and in this case I had forced him out of his comfort zone, missed our target by a little less than forty years and his carefully thought-out plans and concerns were falling apart.

But another part of me didn't care, the part that had had no qualms about knocking him unconscious in the first place. My face went grim, eyes cold. I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees.

"Do cut the moaning, Filius," I said. "I may not remember these Nazis very well, but that's no reason to call me an idiot or to behave like an asshole. Here we are, in the past, all the possibilities in the palm of our hands, and all you can do is sit there like a whiny teenager, complaining about your pitiful situation and generally bitch about how the world is mean."

He looked up with wide, startled eyes. His expression was surprised enough that my anger quickly dissipated. I sighed tiredly.

"Look, Fil, I might have made a mistake, alright? I admit it. But I'm not sorry about it and I never will be. I brought you here because I thought this is what you wanted. I forced you to come because I thought you were scared to make the decision yourself."

"I wasn't scared, Harry," he said very softly. "There is more at play here than you can possibly imagine."

I nodded. He knew my knowledge on history was abysmal.

"Perhaps," I conceded. "But who knows, this might all work for the better one day."

Filius looked away. He rested his head on his hands and his gaze strayed upwards. I gave him the space he needed and we spent a moment in silence.

Somewhere in the distance came the steady dripping of water. The underground tunnels of Lac du Der-Chanteqoc, France stretched in front of us, and just by looking at the mouth of the tunnel that had led us to the ante-chamber to the Clock made it possible for me to picture the vastness of the complex. We would have to get moving soon. These Nazis could be back any minute with reinforcements and it wasn't wise for us to be singled out as targets so early in the game.

"This is going to work, Fil," I said quietly but determinately. "I will run over anyone that stands in my way. Voldemort, Grindelwald, Nazis… It's all the same." I stood up and clapped him on the shoulder. "And now that you're here to help me, I don't doubt we'll win."

His back was shaking slightly, and with a start I realized he was probably sobbing. I didn't understand why. Perhaps it was something I'd said, perhaps it was the forties that brought back unpleasant memories. Ironic that I used to be such a keen observer, yet I often missed the things that mattered the most.

I left him to compose himself and made a quick round of the place. Inside the Clock I transfigured the sand we'd used into a lamp and a desk. If someone were to find the Clock I wanted them to have a hard time understanding its mechanics. I also grabbed Dimassio's journal, which Filius had left on the ground when he'd rushed to my aid. As I stood in the second room, staring at the Clock's door, it occurred to me that we'd have to set up some protections.

From inside my Mokeskin pouch I pulled out a wooden chest. It was filled with glass vials, each carrying a different potion. Amidst the rainbow of colours there were two I needed; blue and pink. I uncorked the first and doused the door with it. I grabbed the brown one and repeated the process.

The door sizzled and hissed as if I'd thrown acid at it. Acrid, grey smoke billowed upwards in a spiral and I covered my mouth and nose with my sleeve. The stench lingered heavily in the air. I quickly pulled out my wand, packed the vials I'd taken out and replaced the wooden chest inside my Mokeskin pouch. Layer after layer of wards I drew around, in front of, and on the door.

I hurriedly left the room, repaired the door I'd twice blasted off its hinges and closed it behind me.

Filius was waiting for me on the other side, still sitting on the same spot, neatly folding the flying carpet I'd used. He stuffed it inside his pocket and his brownish robe bulged ridiculously.

"You alright, Fil?"

"Oh, yes. Fine," he said distractedly.

"Ready to go then?" I said. "We should get moving in case they come back."

"Yes, quite right." He looked around the large cavern. "Did you secure the Clock?"

"Yeah. Sand into objects, closed the door, charmed it to look like the stone walls, a few nasty curses here and there, and I used some of those potions you gave me."

"Sleeping Pink and Blue Moon?"

I grimaced. Not only did Filius refuse to use deathly curses or wards on principle, but he also insisted on calling the Draught of Living Death "Sleeping Pink" and the nightmare-inducing solution "Blue Moon." Anyhow, I nodded. They were rather tame protections in my opinion, but coupled with the rest I'd laced on the door, I was sure the Clock was as secure as I could possibly make it.

"Good," he said. He seemed composed and mostly back to normal. I was sure our talk wasn't over, though. "Then follow me so we can leave."

To my surprise, Filius closed his eyes for a split second, and with a small smile on his face, he vanished. Almost at the same time I heard a second crack and turned to see Filius standing at the mouth of the tunnel, the one that led to that gigantic complex we'd traversed through in the future.

Once again that disparity, I noted. First I had found the chasm free of fire, then the anti-portkey wards that blanketed this entire system of caves and tunnels had inexplicably failed, and now it turned out the anti-apparition ward didn't work either. Maybe the protections Dimassio's son had set up had already faded by the time the forties rolled around. Someone else probably secured the Clock against intrusion between the forties and the end of the twentieth century.

Filius waved at me to follow. I squeezed myself through space and with another crack I appeared right beside him.

"Interesting, isn't it?" Filius commented as we stared at the ante-chamber of the Clock. "The lack of protection, I mean."

"Yeah."

Filius brought up his wand and waved it over his head. The air around us shimmered and seemed to thicken.

"How is your warding?" he asked.

I shrugged. It was pretty basic, but whatever I'd cast would be powerful and durable, if a little unstable when prodded. I had the magic to make it work, yet lacked what youth usually lacks: finesse and experience.

"Under other circumstances I would say warding is not essential to a wizard's life," Filius said. "Remarkably difficult to learn and its benefits are greatly outweighed by its complexities." He looked at me and gave me a tight smile. "But to men in our position, warding is not only useful, but necessary, too. I can't imagine how you survived all these years with only anti-apparition wards to keep you safe."

I didn't think to mention most of my enemies had been too scared to seek me out. Some of them did anyway, but as the body count rose Hit Wizards and Aurors began to play the game I called "I do when seen." They would keep an eye open in case I made an appearance, but would only engage me in combat if a) I was seen in a public setting, because they knew I would never go all out around civilians, and b) when they were safe in large numbers.

Trying to track me down by themselves to collect the bounty on my head lost its appeal by the time Lord Voldemort lost his left arm.

"Must've been some luck involved."

Filius chuckled. "Quite," he said. "But luck won't carry us through these times." He left implicit the fact that it was my fault we had to live through those times. "So please do watch and try to learn. With time experience will prove by itself just how useful proper warding can be."

All traces of kindness wiped clean off his face, replaced by a calm look of utmost concentration. Filius raised his wand over his head again and began a long series of sharp thrusts and jabs, aiming at the Clock we couldn't quite see. The air began to feel heavy and dry, and as Filius started a chant in what I recognized to be Old Norse magic poured out of his wand in long, dense coils of white, which slowly expanded in front of us and began to move away, past the dark chasm, over the rock platform and through the door I'd closed to keep away the smell the potions gave off.

There was a reason the quirky ex-Professor was a Master and not just your every-day instructor. His movements were precise, his words soft yet confident and the white coils that flooded the chasm didn't lose any of their strength as they crossed the admittedly long distance to the Clock. I could easily see at least five ways in which I could potentially fail in casting the same enchantment, and it took Filius only five minutes of work to get it right.

The chant slowly lost its momentum and magic stopped pouring out of his wand. Filius then began what ward-builders call "the grounding" of the enchantment, which consists in fixing that which is metaphysical to a solid, physical and absorbent substance that can prolong the duration of the magic. The Charms Master wisely chose the ceiling of the ante-chamber, both because it was out of reach and unconventional. The more contrived a warding job is, the harder time a curse-breaker will have when trying to unravel it.

Filius pointed his wand away from his body and grabbed it with both hands. Then he sharply pulled it back over his head, much like a fisherman would do to hook the fish and reel it in, and I heard a soft rumble of displayed rock, which meant the enchantment had been successfully grounded. Next came a sudden gust of air, moving from the Clock and towards us. We stood still, immobile and expectant, our robes flapping chaotically, and the air flow suddenly stopped.

He turned to look at me, a satisfied smile on his face, and before I could ask what he had just cast air rushed back through the tunnel, over the chasm and crashed against the door I'd closed. A faint shimmering of gold surrounded the doorway and the walls of rock that protected the Clock and its ante-chamber. I heard a soft hum, the golden hue flickered out of existence and the gust of air died.

"Wow," I muttered, eyes wide. I had felt the sheer amount of power the enchantment had given off, and its complexity was overwhelming. "I mean…yeah."

"Either keep up or give up, Harry," Filius said. "My peers dubbed it the Filius Charm. It's a slight modification of the Fidelius charm. Instead of hiding the location in my mind, I can permanently hide the object or location from those who are not familiar with it. In other words, you can only find it if you know where it is, and what it is. And I tied standard anti-portkey and anti-apparition barriers to it."

I couldn't see any flaws in his logic. If in our time no one had known where to find the clock, only that it existed somewhere, then it meant the forties wouldn't be any different. The Filius Charm, as he called it, would ensure no curious Nazis or other parties could go prodding inside the room, because they didn't know the very room was the time-piece they sought.

"Does it meet your expectations?" Filius asked, knowing full well it did.

I nodded anyway. "How long will it last?"

"Eight to twelve months, depending on how many wizards try to gain access."

"It'll do for now then," I said. "We'll come back once we're settled in and set up permanent protections." I looked sideways at him. "And you've got to teach me warding one of these days."

We walked back the way we'd come from in the future. Filius kept running his wand over the even walls of rock, the tip of it glowing a faint golden colour. The moment the glow died we stopped walking and turned, looking over to the doorway in the distance one last time.

"So where do you want to go now?" I asked.

"London," Filius said automatically. "Definitely London. I want to walk down the streets without looking over my shoulder. You'll finally get to see what a beautiful place Diagon Alley can be without Death Eaters storming around."

Filius donned his hat and I pulled the hood of my cloak up to conceal my face. I said, "Aren't we risking coming across your other self, or someone recognizing you, or someone relating me to my grandfather or something? Isn't England a bit risky?"

"Not necessarily," he said. "I'm not as well-known yet, considering I haven't started teaching at Hogwarts, or won that dueling tournament. And I know for a fact your grandfather is blonde. No one will recognize us." I was about to point out that Filius' height was…unusual, before he added, "Though just in case, keep that hood up and I will use some glamours."

"Alright," I said. "But I want a more permanent solution later. I won't walk around for the next sixty years with a bloody hood on."

"Yes, quite right."

Filius had already checked the anti-apparition ward he'd cast didn't reach this far. We set the location on our minds – Diagon Alley – and turned on the spot. But right before we vanished Filius turned to look at me, an inscrutable expression on his face.

"And don't even think," he said, "that I've forgotten about you slamming me against the ceiling."

I turned to hide my smile and with twin cracks we disapparated.


	4. The World With a Wand

Disclaimer: Don't own HP. No profit being made.

**A Clock on the Face of Hell**

**Chapter 3: The World With A Wand**

According to the Leaky Cauldron's clock, we arrived at Diagon Alley by 11:30 a.m.

Funny thing how the brain works. I suppose it varies from person to person, but the first thing I noticed was the sheer amount of birds flying overhead. Owls, ravens, eagles and the occasional tropical bird swooped down from tree branches and perched themselves on people's shoulders. There was even one old witch with a large, yellow hat on her head that served as a perch for three owls that happily swayed on their spots with the woman's limping movements.

The next thing I noticed was the huge amount of witches and wizards walking around the Alley. I've never been very good at estimating numbers, but I thought there were at least four hundred people ambling about. As we walked through the crowds I saw families happily bouncing from store to store, kids pleading with their parents to get a new broom, Muggleborns staring wide-eyed at everything (I must've looked like a Muggle parent wearing robes) and a few house-elves consulting shopping lists taller than themselves.

We walked past Fortescue's and Filius looked up at me with a grin on his face. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he said. "You'll get used to it in no time at all. I was quite overwhelmed myself when my father took me to buy my first wand."

My hood covered my face so Filius didn't get to see me nodding dumbly with my mouth hanging slightly open. In fact, nobody could see my face, but it didn't scare anybody either. Even though I was wearing full Death Eater regalia (except for the mask) kids walked up to me and stared unabashedly, trying to see past my obscuration charm, and giggling with each other at the strange man wearing long robes and a hood in the heat of the summer. And the parents weren't concerned either. A young woman even smiled at me apologetically as she picked up her laughing daughter, who continued to look and wave at me from over her mother's shoulder.

And the stores were fantastic too. Even if the products being sold were somewhat old-fashioned and generally relics in my time, one could appreciate the selling techniques of the owners and the vibrant colours used to capture attention. There were flashing signs, banging noises and squeaking animals in stores that catered to young audiences. Other more serious establishments had opted for the employment of spokewizards that would stand outside and call in loud voices things like, "There's a special discount for today's most fashionable hair styles – we've gone mad, ladies and gents, absolutely mad!" or a man standing outside a bookstore would yell, "Books, books! Spells, charms, house-hold tips and Quidditch guides! They're just flying off the shelves!", and things that looked like books would soar right out of the store, annoy the post-carriers overhead and fly back inside.

The contrast to my time's Diagon Alley was so vivid I couldn't help but stare at everything with undisguised awe. I had seen the place change many times, especially through my fifth, sixth and seventh years, but when we left for this Time Diagon Alley had burned already. Stores had been blasted apart, blood pooled on the streets and goods were littered on the ground.

The mood of this Diagon Alley was captivating. I found myself relaxing and trying to enjoy the moment. Filius certainly helped, pointing at anything that looked interesting and generally acting his part of a young teenager, while I tried to keep myself from rushing into Quidditch Quality Supplies and buying the latest prototype to replace my heavily damaged Firebolt.

Every now and then we would come across a chocolate frog bouncing happily down the street and a frustrated child chasing after it. Filius even pointed at a man with his son sitting on his shoulder leaving the narrow passage to Knockturn Alley. The small kid was using his father's head as a drums set while the man complained to anyone who would hear him about the skyrocketing prices of goods in general.

"Filius," I said, speaking for the first time since we'd arrived, "whatever happened to this place? What happened to the number of witches and wizards in our time? And why did Diagon change? This is definitely better than the first time I came here with Hagrid."

My friend sobered for a moment. "Voldemort and Grindelwald," he said. "The Alley was first bombed in late '45. Voldemort takes credit for the rest." He appeared to shake himself from the bad memories. "But that never happened yet. That's why we're here. And now how about having some early lunch? Nobody makes chicken soup like Weaver's."

"Oh, that does sound pretty good," I said, allowing the change of topic. "I'll be happy as long as I never see a can of peas again."

We headed towards the restaurant he suggested. On the way we passed Ollivander's, which looked as cramped and old as it had in my time. By now I wasn't surprised to see a line waiting outside the shop. I idly wondered if Ollivander could remember every wand he sold in these times too. My bet was he couldn't; there were just too many customers.

I spotted a newspaper and magazines stand. The sheer amount of publications available was mind-blowing when I compared it to my time. I was slowly starting to think that comparing the two worlds would get tiring and pointless very soon. I asked the owner for today's _Daily Prophet_ and received a strange look and was offered two publications; _A Warlock's World_ and _The Fact Breaker_.

Intrigued, I bought both of them, while Filius made a face at my choices. "That first one," he said, pointing at _A Warlock's World_, "prints fiction. An interesting read for those toilet moments or waiting in a line, but don't expect facts. The other one though… I think you, of all people, will enjoy that."

I decided to look at them more carefully later. This new time would require a lot of catching up. History was definitely not one of my strengths. For now I took a quick peek at the title of the first article of _The Fact breaker _and the date. My eyes widened.

It read:

_Sunday, January 15, 1945  
**Dark Lord Grindelwald declares war against the  
Confederation of Sorcerers of America**  
Tensions rise in Asia and Eastern Europe  
By Jane Stinter_

"Filius, what the hell is this?" I hissed.

"There will be time for that later, Harry. I promise to answer any and all questions after we eat," he said. "And what's the exact date?"

"January 15, 1945."

Filius paled slightly. "1945? Oh, dear…" I gave him a demanding look but he said, "I know, I know. But not now, Harry, please. We'll talk about this later."

He refused to talk about the war for the next few hours. I gave in.

Past the Owl Post, Gringott's and a small shop that sold trunks we found Wompton Weaver's place. Filius smiled a sad smile that had me quite curious about his memories of this time. It seemed that every place he looked at he found a fond memory. It didn't surprise me to see he looked a little teary-eyed by the time we took a seat at a table outside the restaurant.

"Good memories?" I asked.

Filius smiled a little and nodded. It pleased me to see his frustration hadn't surfaced since we'd left Lac du Der-Chanteqoc. Maybe I had acted like a royal dick, but nobody could argue with the results; my friend looked happier. He kept closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. I don't know what he smelled that had him in such a good mood, but my stomach was growling to the aroma of chicken and freshly baked bread.

From across the table I looked at his childish face – unwrinkled and innocent, with blue eyes much too wise for a kid – and we shared a short look that said it all. There weren't many people that would've understood the moment. I don't know what words Filius would've used to describe the hope this Time's possibilities offered, but for me it was fucking freedom.

"You may take your hood off, Harry," he said. "You are attracting more attention with it than you would without it. It is a warm day, after all."

I did so immediately; the heat was stifling and I was sweating. Cleaning and cooling charms could only get you so far. I was looking forward to a nice, hot, long shower and a set of clean robes with no tears or burn marks.

"I'm starving," I said. "What's good here? Can't spot a list." I looked at the other tables and noticed people had menus in their hands. I couldn't see any boards with specialties or particular dishes. Filius chuckled and twice rapped his knuckles smartly on the table, and two menus popped into existence in front of him. "Oh, right," I said, a bit embarrassed as he handed one to me. "Magic and all that…"

Filius grinned at me. "Perhaps I can teach you more than warding," he said, entirely too happy in my opinion, though he was entitled to it, I supposed. He consulted the menu, pushing his reading glasses up, which looked ridiculous on his glamoured, young face, and clearly said, "Cherry syrup and soda with ice!" There was a soft clinking noise and a tall glass of a ridiculously sweet beverage appeared. He looked at his drink appreciatively and said, "There is more to magic than simply waving a wand, Harry."

I shot him a dirty look and called for my own drink. A glass of red wine appeared. I took a careful sip and closed my eyes, relishing the dry taste of the wine I'd taken a liking to when travelling with an Australian. I said, "And there's more to life than being a smart arse, Filius."

"Indeed," he said, still smiling. "I believe you are at fault on both accounts."

I chuckled and sipped my drink in silence.

A young woman came by to take our order. She looked to be in her early twenties and had curly brown hair tied together in a ponytail behind her back, a kind, wide smile and very light blue eyes that settled a second too long on mine. I couldn't resist smiling at her too. It had been too long since I'd last been the object of interest of a woman that wasn't a psychopath, a cold-hearted killer or a broken soul.

"Good morning, sir," she said. "How are you today?"

"Oh, I'm fine, just fine, thank you," I said, glancing at Filius' amused expression. "How about you?"

"Very well, thank you" she said, her smile even wider, as if she wouldn't dream of being anywhere else. Her eyes settled on Filius. "Oh, he's adorable, isn't he? Is he yours?"

Filius' eyes widened a little and he looked at me for support. I grinned and said, "Oh, no, don't have any kids. This here is Mr. Filius Bonham."

"Yes, yes, of course," she said. "You do look alike, but you are much too young to be a father, Mr.…"

My heavily glamoured friend glared balefully at me and, before I could answer, he said, "Bonham, Harry Bonham. He's my uncle. Harry's taking me shopping today!"

I choked a little on my drink but I managed to pass it off as a regular cough. When the waitress turned to look at me concernedly Filius gave me a cheeky grin full of white teeth. Bastard could sure act. He pulled off the innocent excitement masterfully. This battle of wits was way above my level.

"Well, Mr. Bonham," she said slowly, "should I take your order?"

"Ah, yes, please," I said, somewhat composed, occasionally shooting a glare at Filius. "We'd like two chicken soups and some bread, and perhaps the bottle from which this came from? The wine is quite good."

"Very well, Mr. Bonham."

I grimaced. "Please, Ms.…"

"That's _Miss_ Laura Weaver," she said with a wide smile.

"Yes, of course," I said, while Filius made gagging gestures behind her back. "And please call me Harry, Miss Weaver, just Harry. I'm afraid I don't share my nephew's liking to our last name."

Laura smiled sweetly at Filius and said, "Alright, Harry. Your order will be ready in just a few minutes."

I stared at her retreating back before turning to look at Filius. He kept the child act for a few seconds, going so far as to sip his drink noisily and say, "I want more, Uncle Harry!" Little bastard would be a nightmare to deal with in public.

"Why did she come over if we can order stuff without help?" I asked curiously. "And why are you pretending to be my nephew?"

"Surely not because young Laura wanted to talk to you."

"You know, Filius," I said pleasantly, "I won't ditch you for women. You don't have to act so jealous."

"Oh, please," he said. "That has to be the poorest attempt at flirting I've seen in the last thirty years. All you did was smile like a wide-eyed Muggleborn while she waited for your lines. I've seen better from my Ravenclaws, including a particularly amusing one where a fifth year quoted Shakespeare for Valentine's in the Great Hall. He at least got a date out of it."

I snorted. "Hard to beat that."

The contrast in his tone and eyes with his behaviour came to an all time high when he fished a cherry from the bottom of his drink. He savored it slowly. Worst part was I couldn't tell if he was still acting.

"You do know," he said unexpectedly, "that the last name you forced us to take will follow us for years, don't you?"

I waved my hand dismissively. "Of course not," I said. "We'll settle for an appropriate identity later. And I don't want you pretending to be my son, nephew, cousin, little brother or whatever you can come up with either, no matter how well you can pull it off or how easy it is to change your appearance."

When he'd said he would change his face by use of glamours I had expected something a little more subtle. But no, not Filius, he never did anything half-way. If he was going to disguise himself he was going to do it right. And he did.

Bastard used his small stature to look like a twelve or thirteen-year-old. His height, coupled with his hair and eyebrows dyed black, nose and ears shortened slightly and his wrinkles gone, gave him the look of a snot-nosed brat with wide, mischievous eyes and a permanent white, toothy grin on his face. He told me this was not how he looked like when he was young, as that would've defeated the disguise's purpose.

"I'm not joking, Harry," he said, still pleasant and smiling, so that whoever looked at us would see a typical uncle-nephew moment. "That young woman was Wompton Weaver's daughter, in case you haven't noticed. This place, small as it may look like, is actually a rather busy restaurant and, by night, a pub. And do you know what happens at pubs, my young Apprentice?"

"People drink? And don't call me that."

"Very good, Mr. Harry Bonham," he said without missing a beat, "people do drink. They also tend to talk. Gossip is the norm in this community. Granted, a young man with a strange name and his nephew won't garner much attention, but I suspect we won't be sitting idly in the sidelines for long. Someone is bound to notice sooner or later that Mr. Bonham is not your regular citizen and that his naïve nephew can wipe the floor with him in a duel."

"As I recall, I'm not the one who left a tattoo of himself on a certain room's ceiling."

"Ah, yes, there is that," he said with a grimace. "There will be retribution for that, young Bonham. But how did you know I would try levitating myself above you?"

I grinned. "Same way I know you're wondering if a third drink of that thing you like will give you gas."

His eyes widened and for a moment he looked away. "Legilimency?" I nodded, still grinning. "Should have known. That move won me the semifinal in an international dueling tournament."

The flow of thoughts I had been picking up on a few seconds ago suddenly stopped. He gave me a smug look and ordered a third drink, his only comment being, "I do hope you don't mind the smell."

Laura came by again to drop off our food. The bread was crispy and warm, and the chicken soup, just as Filius had promised, was by far the best I'd ever had, though a week of canned food might have had something to do with my assessment. Filius furtively sampled my wine with the chicken and complimented me on an excellent choice. I was reluctant to confess I'd chosen the Syrah randomly.

Throughout our meal we discussed the matter of our identities and possible future actions. We had no idea where to start with on the latter as the consequences of changing something were still unclear. An identity was somewhat of an easier topic and went well with the wine and chicken, so we concentrated on that for now. It was ironic to see we'd spent over a month doing research and planning our moves and covers, only to discover they'd all gone out the window from the very first second I'd stepped out the Clock.

"It has to be something permanent," I said as I dipped some bread into the soup. "Polyjuice and glamours are all well and good for a couple of hours, but I won't spend _decades_ using that. There has to be another way."

Filius nodded around a mouthful of chicken and potatoes. "Yes, I quite agree," he said. "There is the possibility of using blood magic. That would mean, however, that we would be aligning ourselves to another family, in a way. Strangely enough, blood magic requires someone's blood to work."

"Yeah, not something I particularly care for. Let's leave that as a last resort. Any other brilliant ideas?"

"Potions?" he suggested. "Rejuvenating, aging, and the like are viable, I think. I do not know how much different I'll look in twenty years, but my height is still an inconvenience. Plus the older you get the more you'll look like your grandfather, who is currently around here somewhere. I remember he used to live in Godric's Hollow."

"But again there's that dependence on some substance," I said. "Imagine we're talking to Dumbledore and suddenly Filius Flitwick makes an appearance. The old man would start screaming his head off about paradoxes and second chances."

"Ah, good to see you aren't bitter there, Harry."

I shot him a dirty look as I practically inhaled the scalding soup. I called for Laura and asked for a second helping to share. Despite how small he was Filius could sure eat; he claimed to have a high metabolism.

"Now back on topic," I said. "I need to look young so that nobody compares me to my grandfather. You need to look… well, different. And permanently so."

Filius snorted. "Only way to look forever young without the regular use of potions and charms is the Elixir of Life, and I doubt we can get that in an Apothecary," he said. I perked up at the mention of the infamous Elixir. "I suppose we could use regular make-up. It wouldn't take long to put on and it'd last the whole day. Only problem would be if we were to get wet or if someone picked up on it and decided to vanish it."

Filius kept listing possibilities but my mind was elsewhere. Already I was running through possible scenarios that could potentially get me some of that Elixir. It was a fairly simple potion to make, I remembered from a book I'd once read, but some of the ingredients were very expensive and almost impossible to find; the Philosopher's Stone among them.

"Say Filius," I interrupted his rant, "how good is your warding?"

"I assure you my title of Master is well-earned, Harry.

"And how's your curse-breaking? Particularly on breaking wards and defensive enchantments."

"Ah, I am quite proud of my skill on those areas," he said. "Albus himself once consulted me about bringing down the wards around a shabby house in a small town – that same year he died, incidentally. He had the raw power and skill to do it, while I had the knowledge and experience. But of course, I'm barely a spring chicken in transfiguration compared to –"

"Ah, yes, thank you, Filius," I interrupted again. He looked put-out, a cute expression on the face of the thirteen-year-old he was pretending to be, though it felt wrong to even think of Filius as a child; he was practically ancient compared to me. "So you know your ward-breaking and I have the raw power –"

"I do wonder when you got so strong," he interjected, but I ignored him for now.

"– that we would need to break into someone's house, right? Even if it belongs to an old pureblood family?"

Filius looked surprised. Then his features settled into an expressionless mask, though I could still the keen intelligence in his eyes, assessing me. In a flat tone he said, "So the Dark Lord Potter comes to the surface. What is it that you have in mind?"

"First tell me if it is possible to break into… say, Malfoy Manor, for instance."

He cautiously nodded.

"Excellent," I said. I pushed my bowl of soup aside and leaned forward, so that I was looking straight into Filius blue eyes, who kept his thoughts a secret through Occlumency. "Then breaking into Nicholas Flamel's house shouldn't be a problem."

Filius stared at me for a long, uncomfortable moment, lost in his own thoughts and probably labeling me with different synonyms of insane and reckless.

"The stone?" he finally whispered.

I nodded seriously. "The Elixir of Life is a permanent solution for my problem and we could probably modify it to serve you as well. We would need help. We would need to do some serious research. We would need to make sure Flamel and his wife aren't there. And above all, we would have to make sure we aren't caught." I looked at him confidently, a smirk on my face. "But we can pull it off."

Filius continued to stare at me, judging my assertiveness and plan for what it really was; ridiculously bold and dangerously risky. I understood his doubts and did my best to stare back at him openly and unblinkingly, my thoughts hidden beneath the surface just in case he could read them, and my self-assured expression firmly in place.

After several long seconds he leaned back and drummed his fingers on the table. He absent-mindedly took a sip of his disgusting drink, sighed appreciatively and said, "Your idea is quite dangerous, it can backfire very badly, our chances of success are slim and I think there is a good chance we will be caught." I sat up a little straighter, ready to argue my point, but he added, "That said, it's the only permanent suggestion we have, and I cannot, in good conscience, dismiss it."

He looked at me with a grim smile I would become quite fond of.

"When do you wish to start?"

* * *

We left Wompton Weaver's at around 12:30 p.m.

For two time-travellers who had taken the wrong bus we were acting and feeling quite at ease. I kept expecting Filius to flip out again and start screaming his undying hate for Nazis. He never did though. We calmly walked through the busy streets of Diagon Alley, discussing our options in low voices and pondering what we could possibly do next.

"Let us think short-term for now, Harry," Filius said. "I do not know about you, but I am quite tired and, frankly, utterly disorientated. Food certainly helped, but I need to relax and think things through."

"Um, the Leaky Cauldron then?"

"As good a choice as any."

We entered the dingy pub and headed straight for the bar. An ugly wizard with dirty hair and dull, black eyes was standing behind it, playing with some bottles, levitating them wandlessly and flinging them around him as the patrons watched amusedly and dropped a few Knuts after some particularly impressive move.

Filius hopped on a stool and watched the show with interest. I shook my head and sat beside my friend. It seemed the magical world's barmen were unable to run their establishments without some sort of quirk or eccentricity; Aberforth had been a brooding asshole with a fetish for goats; Tom had opted for the friendly but creepy wizard that trailed after you with hot cups of cocoa; and this guy had picked up juggling as a part-time job.

I pulled the rooms register towards me and quickly checked the names as the barman played with his bottles. There weren't any that particularly rang warning bells, though I was somewhat curious to see a Mr. Harfang Longbottom was staying in room 11. My friend Neville had never mentioned family with a first name so...interesting.

"Oi, you," I said.

The barman threw all bottles to the air and with a quick flick of his wrists managed to suspend them, so that they hovered above him as he walked closer to us. His eyes flickered from Filius to me and, deciding I was the responsible adult, he asked, "How can I help ya?"

"May," Filius whispered.

I ignored my friend and said, "Yeah, we'd like a room for tonight. Two beds, please."

The man grinned, grabbed a quill and scanned the register. "Alright, lad. We got 14 for ya. Yer names?"

I looked at Filius, sighed and gave the barman our fake names. The man gave me a strange look but wrote them down. From under the bar he pulled out a metal box, and with a frown on his face he stuck inside his hand, which went inside all the way up to his elbow. He peered intently until he found what he was looking for, and pulled out an old set of keys, the painted gold on them already quite faded. The barman pushed the keys forward and looked at me expectantly.

"Thanks, Mr…"

"Name's Cox, Liam Cox."

I grinned, amused, and Filius palmed his face tiredly, already knowing or suspecting what would happen next. The barman, one Liam Cox, gave us a forced smile and resumed his juggling. I followed the bottles with my eyes, taking note of the apparent pattern they followed, resolutely ignoring Filius' disapproving face.

We turned and left. Filius hopped down from his stool and went first, climbing through the narrow staircase located beside the bar, which was lined by walls of polished wood. Old paintings of previous owners and not-so-distinguished wizards and witches hung on both sides, and most of them looked down on me with their noses upturned as I followed my short friend.

When I reached the landing I found Filius already standing in front of a closed door. The metal plaque read 14 in faded, black letters, and I tossed Filius the key before going back downstairs.

"Where are you going?" Filius called.

"Be right back," I answered, already jumping down the stairs two at a time.

* * *

A few minutes later I stepped inside our room and closed the door. The one problem with it was glaringly obvious. I couldn't resist commenting on it.

"This sucks, Fil."

From his place by the rickety, wooden desk that stood close to the window, Filius nodded. "I know."

"I mean, it really sucks."

"I agree."

The room was pretty comfortable, over all. It had a desk, a table and a couple of chairs, a big, wooden wardrobe, a surprisingly wide window, a small couch and a full-body mirror, which I hoped didn't talk. Nice as the room was, that Cox the Juggler had either made a mistake or fooled us, because there was only one bed; one small, single bed.

"You think we should complain?"

"After you probably just did downstairs?" Filius said distractedly, peering at the streets of Muggle London through the window.

"Alright, I get it – temper and subtlety and all that. Not my strongest traits, you know."

Filius gave me one of those looks and began emptying his pockets on the desk. He was so small he had to stand on tip toes. As he pulled out the flying carpet he asked, "Bed or couch?"

I shrugged and walked over to the bed. Small clouds of dust drifted upwards lazily and became visible through the rays of sunlight that crept inside the room. I sat down on the bed. It was hard and the cover was rough. I knew I wouldn't be spending my time in this piece of shit of a pub. Maybe I could spend a few nights in Laura Weaver's place. She had told me to drop by the restaurant one of these days, after all.

I kicked my boots off, tossed my Mokeskin pouch on a bedside table and settled down for a nice nap, my mouth already open wide in a yawn and my eyes watering from the lack of sleep. I interlaced my hands behind my head and looked at Filius, who was tapping his wand here and there. He enchanted the door, windows and walls, and I thought I felt the wave of magic settle over me, but I was too tired to accurately tell what they were; proximity and silencing, most likely.

"Can we make this bed bigger?" I asked. "'Cause I'm not sleeping on that couch."

"I'll do it, if you don't mind," Filius said. "Your Charms work was always questionable when subtlety was of the essence, and I would rather avoid waking up on the floor."

"Suit yourself."

I flicked my wand and the window panes suddenly darkened, cutting off that annoying supply of light, and I closed my eyes, my wand still held loosely in my hand in case Cox got creative. I felt another weak wave of magic and heard another bed squeak under Filius' weight, who sighed contentedly.

We lay in the dark in silence as our eyelids grew heavier and our bodies relaxed. I sleepily mumbled, "So what would you say your strongest trait is, Fil? Subtlety? Stealth?"

I heard him yawn and say, "A three feet-tall man can hardly go unnoticed." He shifted in his bed for a moment and then said, "I recently discovered my unlimited patience. You have insisted on trying me every single day, but so far my patience remains true, and none of your stunts will make me lose it."

Grinning in the dark, I said, "You do remember your anti-Nazi rant in France, don't you?"

There was a moment of silence in which I could imagine the grimace on his face and the reluctant twitch of his lips. "Yes, I do," he said, "and it is far from over. But I believe I can be excused, seeing as you had just shot us through time." I heard Filius snort as he added, "And missed the target by forty years."

I closed my eyes, yawned again and said, "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Someday, Harry, someday."

I muttered something unintelligible and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Occlumency afforded me some peaceful hours of sleep. Occasionally a random image or two would dance in my unconscious mind, showing disturbing images of broken bodies and burning buildings. Sometimes I would dream about my friends dying and sometimes about my enemies dying.

I woke up and stretched sleepily on the bed.

The room was much colder than it had been before, and though it was still dark, there was also a soft glow of a few burning candles. The damp smell of old, wet wood had been replaced by the deep odour of burning tobacco, mingled with other more colourful smells of fruit, which I had learned to associate with Filius in a thinking mood or in an excess of alcohol.

Luckily it was the former. I could see the outline of my small friend, hunched over the newspapers I'd bought, a frown of concentration on his face as he pulled distractedly from his black, wooden pipe. Greyish smoke lingered lazily in the air. It was amusing to see him smoking a pipe and reading the newspaper; he looked like a twelve-year-old role-playing for father's day.

I yawned and said, "That thing's going to stunt your growth, you know."

Filius looked up from his reading, the pipe hanging loose in his mouth, and mumbled, "Cheeky brat."

I got out of bed and ran my wand over my robe. Most wrinkles and a few patches of dust vanished instantly. I walked over towards the table and took a seat opposite Filius, who was once again engrossed in his reading.

"What time is it?" I asked. I felt refreshed and completely awake. A wonder what a good night's sleep could do to your mood.

Filius looked up again, plucked the pipe from out of his mouth and spoke as he filled it with a curiously red tobacco.

"Breakfast will be along in a few minutes. I slept very well, thank you. Yes, we shall talk about important matters over breakfast. It's a little over half past five a.m." He lit the pipe and pulled deeply, and while surveying me through his reading glasses, said, "Now do be quiet while I finish this article."

I plopped my feet up on a chair and said, "Yeah, I'm not a morning person either, Fil."

A flick of my wand and the window panes went back to their original translucency – a little bit cleaner too, perhaps. The lighting didn't change much, for the sun was only just rising, and only the dull, yellow light of the buzzing lamplights of Muggle London filtered in through the window. Filius was reading _The Fact Breaker_, so I yawned and picked up _A Warlock's World_ while I waited. The front page was littered with small articles that surrounded a large one, which was titled "The map is drawn with wands."

There was a picture below it of a globe of the world hovering in the dark, while a wand circled it and drew random lines that formed what I assumed were boundaries between countries. A rather crude drawing, for sure, but I liked the analogy and my interest was piqued.

I skipped a few rather droning parts that reminded me of Binns. Overall the article seemed more interesting than it really was, though I did find a few gems here and there.

I learned Grindelwald's so-called quest for 'the Greater Good' had taken him practically all over the world. He was considered an extremely powerful wizard (though some accounts in the article bordered on ridiculous) and was apparently unstoppable. He, along with Adolf Hitler, had built himself a vast and powerful empire, with its capital in Berlin, Germany, and a second, slightly smaller one in Rome, Italy.

The vastness of Grindelwald's forces and the influence it held was beginning to get through to me. I was beginning to see why Filius so feared these times. Voldemort's regime was dark, terrible in many ways, but the sheer number of soldiers in Germany and Italy, both magical and Muggle, was astounding. Voldemort had been a madman who lusted for power, while Grindelwald was a rational, competent and powerful man with ideals. There was nothing more dangerous than a man with ideals and the will to see them bloom no matter how strong the opposition.

I looked up from my reading and found Filius to be staring at me with an inscrutable expression on his face. "Read," he said evenly, his pipe in hand and wand in the other, and despite the glamours, looking more like the weathered old man that had seen his country die than the easy-going Charms Professor I liked. He tapped his wand on the pipe and the red tobacco smouldered and burnt a light grey. "I shall fetch our breakfast so that we can talk. It is time you learn about this war and for us to decide how we fit into it."

I nodded, seriously for once, and said, "I want boiled eggs, please," which completely ruined the moment.

He took a last pull of his pipe, dropped his reading material and left the room, his walk slightly clumsier and expression childish. I'd thought Severus Snape could act, but Filius Flitwick could wipe the floor with him any day.

My perusing of _A Warlock's World_ and _The Fact Breaker_ led me to several more surprises, and not all of them nasty.

It seemed the Ministry of Magic was actually competent in this time. I could still see a hint or two of political bullshit and public opinion manipulation, but in general they were doing a rather good job of keeping Grindelwald at bay. It seemed this era's Dark Lord intended to occupy Britain, and _The Fact Breaker_ speculated that Hitler had promised him London as a reward for his help, which was rather ridiculous, since _I_ speculated Hitler was as dangerous as a toothbrush compared to Grindelwald.

I learned the Muggles had formed some sort of alliance. Neither publication went into great detail about Muggle affairs, but the current debacle in Britain was if the Ministry should offer their support to the Muggle armies, which appeared to be slowly scraping some victories in the Continent. The issue was highly polemical, according to _A Warlock's World_, because the International Statue of Secrecy prohibited such blatant showcase of magic. Nevertheless, it appeared that Hit Wizards and Unspeakables were supporting their fellow Englishmen from the shadows, discreetly breaking curses cast upon them and shielding their leaders from assassination attempts that would've otherwise wiped their ranks clean from Senior Officers.

Among the rather nasty surprises was an article about the involvement of Japan. It appeared that while Japan's Muggle armies were busy fighting in the Pacific, Japanese Warlords and High Sorcerers were ordered to aid in Grindelwald's campaign. Their reasons for doing so weren't very clear, but _A Warlock's World_ didn't hesitate to point out those Warlords and Sorcerers were bad news for the wanded allies, for they were vicious, powerful and highly trained in combat. I remained sceptical about their competence (I had seen little to no competence in the magical world at large) but I didn't miss the fact that Grindelwald had a whole lot more allies than I'd thought possible when I'd learned Dumbledore had defeated him.

Filius returned levitating a tray with our breakfast. We cleared the table of some random garbage and grabbed our dishes. I studied the food for a moment, wondering if that Cox would dare mess with it, before I shrugged the concern off and tucked in hungrily.

"This is pretty good," I said. Filius swallowed and nodded. I noticed he was having grapes and melons. "What the hell is that anyway? You're having fruit for breakfast?" I looked down at my eggs and bacon. "Did that guy put something in the food?"

Filius chuckled. "Not that I know of. This is merely an old man's digestive system's choice."

"Ah, yes," I said. "I keep forgetting you're the senior citizen here, what with your height and everything..."

He shook his head, kept slicing his pieces of fruit and said, "Must you mock my height, Harry? I don't recall mocking your recklessness...hard head...arrogance...stubbornness...lack of an education...poor manners –"

"Alright, alright – I get it. Jesus..."

Filius sipped his coffee calmly and threw occasional glances at _The Fact Breaker_, which he kept open next to his 'food'. I stood up and grabbed my Mokeskin pouch, from which I fished out a couple of Galleons. My friend waved off my money, saying, "We will need to pool our resources soon. No sense in dividing our expenses for now." I shrugged. Money was one thing I did have, but I knew it wouldn't last more than three or four years, even if we lived cheap and spent with care. At some point I would need a job or something more...lucrative.

I returned to my breakfast and for a few minutes only the sound of chewing made for company. Filius kept staring at the newspaper with unfocused eyes while I thought about what I'd learned from both publications. My friend had been right about _A Warlock's World_ – it seemed to contain more fiction than substance – and _The Fact Breaker_ was as he'd said too – dry, filled with information and useful for those who were trying to form their own opinion.

My thoughts were of course rather unfounded as of yet, for I had seen only one publication of each. But _A Warlock's World_ reminded me too much of the _Daily Prophet_, which used to be as reliable as Goblins, while _The Fact Breaker_ had an air of being a serious publication where editors made their thoughts known and shared the most relevant news with the reader. I had yet to confirm if any news printed were factual. And that's where Filius came in.

I pushed my empty plate away and sipped the last of my orange juice. Filius mimicked my movements and leaned back with his coffee in hand. For a moment we kept silent, wondering where to begin, until Filius spoke.

"Before we begin, are there any questions about what you read?"

I slowly shook my head. "It was pretty clear," I said. "I still don't know how this came about, but the general outline was told accurately. Is it all true then?"

"I'm afraid it is," Filius said gravely. "It is apparent that you are largely ignorant of the second world war, but for all intents and purposes, at least for the next few months, all you need to know about Muggle events is that the war ended around the 2nd of September, 1945."

I looked at him with a hopeful expression. "Then it's almost over," I said. "The date is January, 1945. A couple of months and the Nazis are history again."

"Yes, Harry. If events happen the same way they did before, then that is quite true," Filius said, but sighed wearily. I frowned. "Wizard events, however, are now getting worse."

"Wasn't Grindelwald defeated in 1945?"

"Indeed, Albus bested him in 1945, but in _November_ of 1945," he answered. "The magical war will get worse until the very day Grindelwald is defeated. Diagon Alley is yet to be bombed. Italy, Japan and Germany will face England, the Soviet Union and America in Europe sometime in October of this year. A large number of Hit Wizards will die trying to assassinate the Dark Lord. You could almost say the Muggle war ends when the Magical one begins in earnest."

We fell silent. It was quite a lot to take in. I'd thought that the war was almost over. But I'd already realized that Hitler was but a buffoon compared to Grindelwald. It wasn't very surprising to learn that his Muggle puppet's fall wouldn't impact his campaign, especially if Muggle armies were kept ignorant of the magical threat. The Allies would toast to their victory and go home, leaving wizards and witches to finish their war.

"It does sound bad," I conceded, "but we know Dumbledore eventually defeats Grindelwald. We've hardly done anything that would change such a huge event. I know it's cold-hearted, but if we let events play out and track down Riddle... Dumbledore will end this war and we can prevent the next one from happening."

Filius gave me a pleased yet sad smile and said, "For once we are in agreement, Harry." I started to say something but he continued. "But answer this, Harry, if you will." He levelled me a serious look. "Suppose we find Riddle and...exterminate him, then what? What will you do with your life? Will you stay out of sight for the rest of your life? Will you one day confess to be Harry James Potter? Will you meet your parents and risk the death of your other self?"

To my friend the questions might have been of importance, but to me they weren't. I knew exactly what I would do with my life; kill Tom Riddle, thus fulfilling the Prophecy; leave England; settle in somewhere warm, probably America; and live my life without looking over my shoulder. I would've liked to see my parents and friends, but I'd already accepted there was no room for me in that future. _My_ friends and family had died.

I shared my thoughts with Filius and he sighed, as if he had expected my life's plans to be these. He listened patiently however, and filled his pipe with that strange red tobacco. When I was done he nodded, lit the pipe and said, "I understand, Harry. I cannot say I wouldn't do the same in your situation."

"Now," Filius said and leaned forward, adopting a more focused expression, "where do we find Riddle? How do we track him?"

"Well, I know quite a bit about his life," I answered, pleased that I knew something that would help us. "He graduated in '45, so he should be out there right now. I also know Dippet refused to give him a teaching position at Hogwarts –"

"Teach?" Filius interrupted with a squeak, choking on his pipe. "That bastard – _teach_? In _my_ school?"

"I know," I said, completely agreeing with the sentiment. "But Dippet said he was too young, so he applied for a position in Borgin & Burkes, where he should be working right now."

Filius still looked horrified at the thought of Voldemort teaching at Hogwarts. I couldn't blame him. Snape had been bad enough as Headmaster, but that raving lunatic of a Dark Lord would've brain-washed the students within the week. Hell, _I_ would've been brain-washed too perhaps, and that was not a very happy thought. It was hard to picture myself working for Lord Voldemort's Empire.

"So we have a chance, Fil," I said, distracting him from whatever it was he was thinking. "We can nail the bastard while he's running in and out of that hell-hole. A nice curse to the head, maybe puff one or two Horcruxes, and we're off to live by the beach."

"Sounds easy in theory," Filius said dryly, "but I doubt the actual execution will be." I made to say one killing curse wouldn't be too hard but he continued. "It is, however, a good – if unpolished – plan. There is also the matter of our identities. You still wish to go along with the Elixir of Life?"

I had almost forgotten about that, but I nodded confidently anyway. "Yes, it's as good a disguise as any," I said. "A few mouthfuls should be enough to keep me young for one or two decades, if what Dumbledore once told me is true. And we could modify it to create a new look for you too. I know for a fact Voldemort wanted to use it to create a new body for himself. If he can do that then we can pull this off."

"Very well," Filius said with an air of finality, "it is what we'll do. We should go to Knockturn Alley and discreetly inquire about this Tom Riddle. I will be glad to be done with this part of our plan." I nodded eagerly – too eagerly perhaps, because Filius adopted a grave expression and said, "But do not rush, Harry. One mistake, one second too early or too late, and we could be chasing Lord Voldemort all over the world. We must be very discreet in our methods. Nobody is to remember us or our involvement."

Nodding seriously, I stood up and put away the Galleons I'd pulled out back inside my Mokeskin pouch. I vanished the second bed Filius had conjured, a little surprised at how long it had lasted and how defined it looked, and walked towards the door, where I stopped and looked expectantly at Filius.

"Right now? he asked.

"Why not?"

A sigh. "Very well. Though I warn you, most shops don't open until eight or nine in the morning."

I shrugged. My pocket watch was still stuck at 3:04 a.m. I'd have to change it later or see about getting a new one.

"I have a feeling Borgin & Burkes never closes," I said to Filius, who gave me a searching look. "Let's go now. Someone will surely be there."

Filius picked up his things and we left the newspapers and the empty breakfast tray scattered on the table. I gave the room a last look, making sure I had left nothing behind, and Filius quickly brought down his enchantments. When he nodded, showing we were done, we opened the door and walked downstairs.

Liam "The Juggler" Cox was manning the bar this morning too. We ignored him and the glare he sent our way. The pub was completely empty save for an old witch having breakfast in a booth. I picked up the guest's quill, signed a fake 'Harry' with a flourish and pushed the register and a Galleon towards Cox.

He picked up the coin and grunted something that sounded like, "Come back soon."

Diagon Alley was practically empty. Filius estimated the time to be 6:45 a.m. and the sun was already creeping up in the horizon. It was a pleasant morning now that the sun provided some warmth. Only a few shop owners were rearranging their display windows and others were setting up small stalls in the middle of the street. I only barely recognized Fortescue, the ice-cream vendor, who was walking from shop to shop, his young face stretched in a smile as he greeted his friends and acquaintances.

We walked past the owners and workers, past Gringotts, which was already open and two Goblins were guarding the entrance with bored looks on their faces, until we came upon the entrance to Knockturn Alley. I pulled my hood up and Filius cancelled his glamours and donned his hat. My friend assured me that this part of the shopping district wasn't quite as bad as it used to be – or would be – but I still erred on the side of caution. I didn't have my reputation to protect me in 1945.

Knockturn, unlike Diagon, still showed some vestiges of what nightlife in the Alley was all about. A few drunken wizards littered the streets, lying on the floor with their backs against shops, begging for a coin or two in slurring voices. I thought I spotted a hag losing herself within the mazes of passages. One drunken witch got too close for comfort, but quick as lightning I pointed my wand at her throat and she backed away.

The Alley's regulars eyed us distrustfully.

The buildings were tall and grime covered the walls, and the streets were paved with cobblestones, their colour faded black. Shadows fell upon the narrowest passages, the light blocked by the towering shops, brothels and Inns. Windows were sometimes covered in dust and the displays my eyes settled on were all decidedly disturbing. Eyeballs, hands, black, glittering powders, dried beetles, rotting mushrooms and other assorted items were a common occurrence here.

We came upon number 13B, Borgin & Burkes, probably the most notorious and most profitable shop in Knockturn Alley. Its windows displayed the usual assortment of dark items that made the owners blend in perfectly well with their environment, though the contents of the shop were more valuable and expensive. I saw a bloodstained pack of cards, a hangman's rope and shrunken heads, which had been hung from a rope that crossed the display window from side to side. Arranged in order by their size were rusty, spiked and sharp instruments and weapons, ranging from your every-day potions knife to a heavy-looking maul with a spear-like spike on the fore-end of the haft.

I looked at Filius and he nodded resolutely. The door was locked and a sign on it stated the shop was closed. Undeterred, I pulled out my wand and quietly forced it open. Somewhere in the shop a bell sounded shrilly and stopped when Filius closed the door behind us.

Inside, the place was quite large, dimly lit with floating candles and the floors dusty, with a path that led deeper into the shop, marked by prints of footsteps that had cleared the filth. There was a large stone fireplace to the side, in which a few embers still burned and crackled merrily, adding to the flickering red lighting of the room. We walked slowly forward, following the path, and taking in the view of grotesque objects, the most hideous of which had been purposefully well illuminated by many candles.

When we reached the counter a man was already waiting for us with a polite yet alert expression. He had dark, unwashed hair that hung past his bony shoulders, a pasty complexion, dull, grey eyes and a nasty, blue scar on his neck.

"Good mornin', sirs," he said. "M'fraid the shop ain't quite open yet. Come back by nine."

I drifted off to the side and let Filius handle the polite part of the conversation. Leaning against the counter, I watched my friend clasp his hands behind his back, where I knew he kept his wand hidden, and show his polite face to the man, blue eyes wary and grey hair hanging unruly past his nose.

"Ah, I'm very sorry, Mr..."

"The name's Borgin, sir."

"...Mr. Borgin then. Charmed," Filius said, and his eyes briefly left the man's face and scanned the room. "I'm afraid we missed the closed sign. But no matter, for our business shall be brief."

The man looked bored. "I see," he said, not bothering to ask for our names. "An' the door's open then? Funny that. Closed it meself."

Filius ignored the distrustful look and gazed at him evenly. "I'm sure you can tend to your faulty enchantments later on, Mr. Borgin. My associate and I are looking for your assistant, a Mr. Tom Riddle."

A brief flicker of surprise passed through Borgin's eyes. I straightened imperceptibly, my wand in hand, hidden under my sleeve, and my attention on the surroundings and the shop's owner.

"Aye," he said slowly. "Young Tom's been doing the odd job 'round here. Dunno why you'd be lookin' for 'im though. Quiet lad, very efficient an' honest, see? No need ter talk to any Aurors."

"We aren't Aurors, Borgin," I cut in rather brusquely. The man's eyes swivelled to mine. I prodded subtly with Legilimency but he looked away immediately, his expression clouded yet fearful. "Where is the kid?"

"Robbed you, did he?" he said with a nervous laugh. "No matter, no matter, gents. I'm sure we can solve this, no wands drawn, eh? Talk to me, what's he done now?"

"Believe it or not," Filius said before I could answer, "he hasn't done anything – not yet anyway. We need to talk him about some other...delicate business." He gave Borgin a friendly smile. "Surely you understand, don't you, Mr. Borgin?"

"Yes, yes, 'course," he said quickly. I noticed him moving his hand discreetly towards his waist, almost hidden behind the counter. I tensed. "You see, young Tom does the odd job 'round 'ere. Don't see him too often unless he got news fer us – me associate and I, I mean. You could try an owl. I'd say it'll be the fastest way to reach 'im."

Filius' face showed the sign of his impatience. "We don't have time for games, Mr. Borgin," he said in a low voice. "Tell us where we can find this Tom Riddle, or we shall have to move our discussion to the back of your establishment."

Borgin abruptly snarled and pulled out his wand, which he aimed directly at Filius, and cried, "CRU –"

But I had already moved. There came a loud bang, like a gunshot, and the surface of the wooden counter he had been standing behind splintered and split in half, collapsing with a heavy groan. Borgin was thrown bodily against a stone wall, and he crashed to the ground, where he screamed in pain and shock, cradling his broken hand.

Filius looked at me with wide eyes, his hands frozen in mid-motion, and nodded shakily. I flicked my wand and banished the pieces of wood to the side, stepped over a puddle of black ink and slashed pieces of parchment, and looked down at Borgin.

A nasty black-blue bruise was already forming on his forehead and his dirty hair was damp with his blood. I grabbed him roughly by his hair and dragged him away from the wall. He whimpered in pain and slumped down on the floor, on his back, so that his eyes met mine when he looked up. My wand was trained unshakably between his eyes. He swallowed nervously, a pitiful moan escaping his lips.

"My friend tried the nice way," I said evenly. "A waste of time then, Borgin?"

"N – No... Please."

I crouched down and whispered in his ear, "Do you know why I came along? Because my friend is too nice to get the job done." I grinned at him. "But I'm not, Borgin," I hissed softly, so that Filius wouldn't hear. "I'll rip the information out of your skull if I have to. Will you force me to cut off your limbs, one by one, until you answer?"

"But I – I told you!" he cried. "We don't call Riddle – he comes to us with the sale! We just point him to possible collectors."

"And why do I find that hard to believe?" I asked as I stood up, wand still pointed at Borgin. "Would you be willing to say that under Veritaserum? For every lie you say I'll cut off a finger. Sound good? Think you'll be able to brew your poisons by the time we're done?"

Borgin looked at me fearfully but sure, his broken hand cradled uselessly, face streaked with blood and forehead swollen. "Yes," he said shakily. "I ain't lyin'."

I frowned. No sane man would be willing to try and lie under the effects of a truth serum when the consequence was dismembering. I looked at Filius, who looked back at me expressionlessly and shrugged. A surface scan of Borgin's thoughts revealed the hatred he felt for us, the fear, pain and shame, and the desire to tell the truth so that we would leave.

My hopes of catching the young Voldemort quickly vanished. I told Filius to clear the place up while I asked Borgin if Tom Riddle would be coming to the shop anytime soon. Realizing we were leaving, he quickly and honestly said business was rather slow lately because of the war and the skyrocketing prices of goods. It occurred to me that I could set up a trap, using Borgin to name me an antiques collector to Riddle, so that he would come to me. But trusting Borgin was one mistake I wouldn't make.

"Very well, Borgin," I said, "you get to keep your fingers if you manage to keep your silence."

"Yes, sir. 'Course," he said, his head bowed.

"You ready?" Filius nodded. The wooden counter had been fixed and its contents had been repaired and placed more or less in their previous locations. My friend had two wands in his hands, the second belonging to Borgin. "Then we can kindly return Mr. Borgin's wand. And do say goodbye to the man, though odds are we'll see him again soon."

I turned and walked towards the exit.

Behind me I heard a wand clatter to the ground and Borgin shakily reorganizing his possessions on the counter. Filius footsteps sounded closer to me and I turned just in time to see him point his wand at Borgin and mutter something. There was a thin beam of pale, silvery light that struck a surprised Borgin on his head. He dropped to the ground, unconscious, and Filius followed me out of the shop.

"Memory charm?" I asked as we climbed the stairs.

"A block – harder to spot, though breakable."

I nodded, satisfied with Filius' precautions and confident of his skills. We opened the door and I cast a few of the charms I'd broken. Borgin would be able to tell something was different but the block would make it impossible for him to realize why.

"How do you wish to proceed?" Filius asked once I was done.

"I have no idea what to do now," I confessed. Tracking people down was hard work and required many things we didn't have.

We walked away from the shop, the harsh sunlight making us squint to inspect the Alley, though it appeared to be almost empty now. Only a few people were walking around, most stopping by the Apothecary or a pet's shop. We turned in a narrow passage and ventured deep enough that I was sure no one would overhear or see us.

"Maybe it is time to get Albus involved," Filius suggested.

I wasn't very keen on the idea. The old man had fooled me too many times for me to want to see him, let alone ask for help. But there weren't many options out there, and I at least knew Dumbledore could be trusted to keep a secret. In fact, you could blindly trust Albus Dumbledore to keep anyone's secrets for as long as humanly possible.

"Perhaps, Fil, perhaps," I allowed. "Let's see what he's up to first. I also want to know what'll be happening in London in the next few weeks – months too. All you can remember."

"The Leaky Cauldron then?"

"No way in hell," I said adamantly. "Muggle London is safer. Take my arm."


	5. Bloodhound

_A/n: Hey, folks. This one's a little bit shorter than the rest, but I think it works just fine. Let me know what you think and visit www(dot)darklordpotter(dot)net if you wish to discuss this story._

_This is the second version of this chapter, edited because of some helpful comments I received. Hopefully it works better now._

**A Clock on the Face of Hell**

**Chapter 4 Bloodhound****  
**

We were staying in Stanford St., close to Waterloo Rd. and the Thames. I had found a comfortable apartment for rent. It cost me two spells and a smile to pay for it. Not my finest moment perhaps, but certainly not my worst either.

My friend spent his time buried in rolls of parchment and smudgy black ink. He was trying to remember even the finest details of this time so that we could draw a timeline. We were still unsure of how to proceed. We had certainly changed things already – minor things, of course, but they were changes nonetheless – and we knew for sure the world wouldn't implode or the fabric of the universe tear, as some theorists had speculated. The broader, more general consequences, however, were still unknown.

While Filius racked his brain for the tiniest pieces of information I stayed quiet and unobtrusive. There wasn't much I could do. It frustrated me, but I knew myself well enough to understand I wasn't a man of theory and planning. If Filius needed space and time to work things out, then space and time I would give him, if it was at all affordable. And right now, for once in my life, I had time to spare.

I usually got restless staying cooped up in that place for long. It was quite nice, sure, especially after Filius had been satisfied with his decorating, but I still tended to take long walks around the busy London of 1945. I went wherever my feet took me, not particularly concerned about my destination, knowing I could always apparate back if I got lost.

We settled into a bit of a routine after the first four days. It would be breakfast at eight or nine in the morning, followed by Filius working on his facts while I walked around London, prodding here and there for clues, sightings or leads on Mr. Riddle's whereabouts. Yet the timeline remained incomplete and Riddle elusive. I didn't let that bother me though; we had always known it would take more than Legilimency and polite conversation to find a man that would later elude capture for decades, and time and hard work would eventually give us that timeline.

That Saturday 21st of January, 1945, I remember having breakfast with Filius. We woke up around nine in the morning and I quickly manned the kitchen. My friend knew all the nifty little charms to make things work, but we were in a strictly Muggle neighborhood, and magical appliances were as rare as common sense was in the magical world.

Product of my walks, we were pretty well stocked on food. We shared the light meal I'd clumsily prepared and discussed our boring, predictable plans for the day.

"It really is too bad that I was such a hot-head in my youth," Filius said in between bites. The man liked his food sweet. To my disgust he had taken to adding sugar to his eggs or fruit. "If I hadn't spent so much time in the dueling circuit I would remember the war much better."

"True," I conceded. "But then you'd be a wimp and I would have to carry your sorry arse through our duels." Filius shrugged unconcernedly. "I rather have the competent wand on my side, not the walking library."

He chuckled. "That's an odd compliment, Harry, but coming from you, I'll take it."

By then we were comfortable enough around each other that we knew what kind of jibes would be taken good-naturedly and which ones wouldn't. Filius knew not to press me about those years we'd spent apart after the fall of Hogwarts. I knew to be very careful around family matters. My friend was very sensitive when it came to his parents and birth, and I had no idea why.

I sipped my coffee, that disgusting beverage I had come to depend on, and grabbed the newspaper. Titled the _Daily Mirror_, it was the ordinary soldiers and civilians' paper – a Muggle paper. I didn't like it much, but it showed facts of the Muggle war, of which we made a point to keep ourselves informed, and us buying it regularly wouldn't draw attention from the magical folk out there, just the way we preferred it for the time being.

"News?" Filius asked absent-mindedly.

I scanned the first page and said, "Nothing too important. Some guy named Roosevelt was sworn in as president…Truman as the Vice…Germany retreats from East Prussia…won Battle of the Bulge…"

He shook his head. "You have a curious definition of what is important and what isn't."

I shrugged. The events didn't mean much to me. I had no idea how they would impact the general outcome of the war. All I understood was a battle had been won by what I was starting to call _my_ side – the Allies – and that some man named Roosevelt had won the support of his country's sheep.

"How's that timeline coming along?"

"Slowly," Filius answered with a grimace. "It is hard to remember all these things. And it certainly doesn't help that the Ministry often covers the truth. The events I remember most clearly could be fiction, a twisted version of the truth – anything is possible."

"I see," I said, and paused for a moment. "Then perhaps we can draw two timelines; one with the facts reported by the media and another with the actual – what? Don't give me that look. It's just a suggestion." Filius snorted and muttered something about him doing all the work. "Fine, you're right. Just hurry up please; I'm going bloody mad with the wait."

"I'm doing my best, Harry. All I need is some –"

"Peace and quiet," I interrupted, having heard the comment before. "Yeah, I know."

We finished our breakfast in comfortable silence. I was warming up alarmingly fast to the little bastard. I've never been a man of too many words, not much of a writer either, but there was just something that pulled us together. I was genuinely happy Filius had found me, and I could tell he felt the same way. They say excellent partnerships work because one person complements the other, and in our case this was unerringly true.

I picked up my wand and vanished the leftovers. Filius leaned back, rubbing his small stomach, pulled out that damned pipe and fished under the wooden table for something. He grinned when he found his pouch of tobacco and started whistling horribly off pitch as he filled the pipe.

I looked at him with disgust. "Why do you smoke that thing?"

"Sherlock Holmes smoked a pipe," Filius said contentedly, as if that made all the sense in the world. He pulled in and exhaled slowly. The grayish puffs of smoke floated lazily around him. "I find it relaxing."

"Yeah, I bet you do," I mumbled.

I had no idea who Sherlock Holmes was or what exactly my friend smoked in that pipe (that red tobacco looked very suspicious to me) but as per our unspoken agreement I stood up to leave. The deepening frown on his face, the shuffling of parchment and the pipe dangling from his mouth meant it was time for me to go for a walk and leave him to his work. I grabbed my black travelling cloak and headed for the door.

"Anything from the outside world?" I asked, as I did every single day.

Today Filius answered something different. Amidst rolls of parchment, broken quills and diluted black ink he looked up, a grin on his face and a cloud of smoke around him, and said, "I shan't need cocaine today, Harry."

I looked at him strangely. That grin never slid from his face, and as I turned around and opened the door to leave I thought I heard him laugh quietly to himself, as if only he knew an amusing secret or the key to an inside joke.

* * *

I had quickly grown tired of Muggle London.

There weren't many remarkable or note-worthy things that caught my attention. Everything looked out of an old black-and-white movie; the pedestrians, with their black suits and white shirts walked like ants from street to street, and the old, roundish-shaped black cars cruised slowly in all directions.

Even the shops were dull and plain-looking. They did have, however, that inexplicable familiar feel, like when I visited my old friend's house, the Burrow, and everything was all cozy and comfortable, and the air smelled of food and burning wood. I learned to like that feeling and these particular shops, and it was here that I spent most of my time when I wasn't looking for Riddle or pressing my ear to the ground, hoping to catch a hint of Flamel and his activities.

That day my feet took me west. I walked down Cornwall Rd. and turned left on Upper Ground. I half-interestedly looked around, hoping to find something that would keep me busy for at least a few hours, so that I would return to the apartment after lunch, maybe by sunset. Filius would still be sitting at the kitchen's table, working on that timeline, and the earlier I arrived the more sweet smoke I would breathe, and the more restless I would get.

To my right I saw a gigantic building. Several paths led to a same entrance; a huge wooden door with white pillars at both sides, and two bored-looking guards standing at either side of it, dressed in traditional red and a black and a black, furry hat. There was a metal plaque that read: National Theatre. I stared bemusedly at the strange-looking guards. Practically by osmosis I had learned some facts about Muggle English culture, and one of them was that Royal Guards existed to protect royalty. Places like Buckingham Palace and Windsor Castle would be swarming with them, but the National Theatre hardly counted as royal estate.

It seemed I had gotten my wish. Two Royal Guards in a strange location wasn't something as interesting as, say, a dragon flying over London, but it'd do for now. I climbed the short steps and walked over to the entrance. The guards were stiff as if they'd been petrified a thousand times over, and not even their eyes moved to follow me. I stopped before the huge door and looked around.

Nothing particularly caught my attention or explained the presence of the guards. From up close I noticed their tunics had groupings of buttons and a star of the garter was marked on their brassware. I took it that meant they were a special kind of guard, perhaps assigned to a specific person or family.

I was about to ask what was going on when the doors opened from the inside. There was a wide, long and elegantly decorated hallway that led deep into the theatre. I could see rows and rows of seats at the end, and part of a wooden stage decorated with red and blue silk rose above them.

Two men stepped out. One of them looked like your average Muggle. He was very short (his head barely reached my chin), had shiny black hair combed back with gel, brown eyes and a pale complexion, and was wearing a black suit with an ugly red tie. He looked like an usher or a planner. The other one had large grey eyes and silvery-blond hair, with a pair of very thick blond eyebrows. His face was rather pointy and strands of curly, golden hair flowed down past his high cheekbones and stopped level with his mouth.

I took a few steps to the side and watched the usher/planner engage the two guards in conversation. It was rather stilted; the Royal Guards either didn't feel like cooperating or they were under strict orders to keep their mouths shut. My guess was the former.

From looks alone I would've said the blonde guy was around thirty years old and worked moving boxes, scenery and props, or perhaps he was a carpenter. He was handsome in a roguish sort of way, but was way too underdressed to hold an important position in the theatre, plus he had an air of not caring about the shorter man's discussion with the guards.

"Will you please at least confirm attendance?" the black-haired man was asking impatiently, holding a clipboard and a stylish golden pen in his hands. "I know taking the time to answer a question must be terribly upsetting to you two, what with all the time you spend standing around here, all serious and busy. But if he wants a seat I'm afraid you two will have to make a phone call."

One of the guards twitched almost imperceptibly while the other looked more amused than angry. I snickered and turned to leave, satisfied with my findings and not terribly impressed with a member of the Royal family attending a show. Perhaps there would be something to see in Diagon Alley. If I was content to eavesdrop on one-sided discussions then magical one-sided discussions would do just as well, and maybe I could pick up some chicken soup and a certain waitress' Floo address…

As I walked away I heard one of the guards saying, "I'm terribly sorry, sir, but we're not allowed to speak on behalf of the Prince, let alone comment on his schedule. The best I can tell you is that, as far as we were told, the Prince has yet to decide on next week's schedule. I'm afraid you'll have to await his decision."

I stopped at the steps and leaned against one of the columns, curious as to hear what the other man would say.

"Fine," he grumbled, "I'll wait. It's not like an over-booked theatre can't reserve a whole box for someone." I watched the short man consult something with his partner, who stood by the entrance with an amused expression on his face. The taller of the two nodded briefly and said something I didn't quite catch. Then the usher/planner said, "Alright, not a problem, sir. And we're terribly sorry we asked you to come for nothing."

The blonde man waved the apology away and walked past the guards and the usher. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and sat down on one of the steps, his back against the other column, so that he was facing me.

His grey eyes fell on me and he said, "Having fun?" I shrugged. He grinned. "Life is full of indecisive folks, but these royal guys are the worst. Change their schedules every hour."

He pulled out a cigarette and offered me one. I declined and sat down opposite him, thoughts of leaving quickly vanishing from my head. Now that he was closer I could see he was wearing blue denims and a plaid shirt in red and black. He looked as out of place as I did, wearing black denims and a long travelling cloak.

"Wizards don't smoke here?" he said casually. I froze and looked at him guardedly. "Ah, come on. Don't tell me you're one of those stiff-ass Brits too. And here I thought you were alright." I glanced at the guards, who were still staring ahead, stony faced. He jerked his thumb in their direction and added, "Don't worry about 'em. You could say you're Hitler himself and they'd still try and look bored."

I stared at him speculatively for a moment, then sat down opposite him and said, "Harry."

"The name's Conning, Gary Conning."

"Nice to meet you, Gary," I said. "Didn't have you pegged for a wizard to be honest."

He grinned. "That's probably because I don't look like a Brit wizard. Matter of fact I'm not even British."

"American?"

"Born and raised."

Gary glanced at the Royal Guards and plopped the cigarette in his mouth. With a jerky twitch of his index finger the tip lit on fire. I relaxed further. He'd already told me he was a wizard, but seeing proof put some of my concerns at ease.

There was a moment of silence that for some reason wasn't uncomfortable. Gary pulled deeply, as if he'd been waiting to have a smoke for a long time, and exhaled with a small smile on his lips. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the white column.

"So what do you do, Harry?"

I hesitated for a split-second before saying, "I'm a consultant."

"Really? That sounds…fascinating."

I laughed. "It's not really as boring as it sounds, and I get by and fix my own hours."

"Like our friend the Prince or do you have a regular schedule?"

"I'm pretty much free all the time. Clients usually first owl to schedule an appointment. The rest of the work I get to do whenever I feel like it."

A blatant lie, that much was clear, but I could hardly say I was an unemployed time-traveler, or that my full-time job was hunting down the next Dark Lord. Perhaps I should've said I was a Hit-Wizard, maybe an Auror. It would've been closer to the truth, but it could've led to awkward questions I didn't have answers for.

"A consultant," he repeated, as if testing the feel of it. "No, you don't really look like the ones I've met. But a man's not his job, eh? I definitely wouldn't wanna be just my job."

"Why? What's your job?"

"Me?" He grinned, displaying two rows of huge, white teeth. "I'm a part-time bomber."

"What the hell's a bomber?" I asked curiously. An image of Gary flying a Muggle combat plane wearing blue denims and a yellow cowboy hat flashed in my mind.

He exhaled the grayish smoke slowly and shook his head. "You Brits got special names for everything. Guess y'all call it curse-breaker or warder."

"Oh, right," I said. "A curse-breaker then."

Unbidden, thoughts of Bill Weasley surfaced from deep in my mind. We'd developed something akin to friendship while on the run. The last time I saw him, Bill and his younger brother, Charlie, took two brooms and flew to the Ministry. The news of their father's death, Arthur Weasley, broke both of them. They died trying to get inside the Aurors' office, which had been transformed into another Death Eater base by then.

"Yeah, curse-breaker" Gary said, unaware of the sudden turn my thoughts had taken. "These idiots called me for a job here, something about putting up some barriers against bullets and some curses. Now I'm guessing it was all for his lordship, the Indecisive Prince." He snorted. "Now I get to take four portkeys across the Atlantic and then apparate from New York to Dallas, and then to Houston."

"That sounds pretty bad," I conceded. "So you get no pay and have to go back? Just like that?"

"Well, not exactly," Gary said. "I'll be staying for a few more days, just in case his Highness decides to attend. In that case I'll get some work. But if he doesn't want to show, then that's fine by me, too. I'll just put up my cheaper set of wards, collect a few of your…_Galleons_ – Really? You call them Galleons? – and then go home."

"Quite the exciting life you've got there, Gary," I said.

"Yeah, a consultant would say ward-building is exciting." He laughed, and it sounded boisterous and contagious. I grinned, too, caught in the care-free mood of the strange American.

I stood up and stretched my back. He said, "Now, now, you ain't offended, are you?"

"Nah, it'd take more than a yank to offend me," I said. "But I probably should get going."

"Busy then?"

"Me? Not really. But you are"

He looked puzzled. Gary opened his mouth to say something but a voice coming from the door of the theatre interrupted, "Mr. Conning, if you're ready we can get started on the security."

"Ah, yes," he grumbled, "the Normal's security. It don't get any more fun than this." He stood up too and crushed the butt of his cigarette with one of his huge black boots. "Guess I'll see you around, Harry. Drop by next weekend if you wanna see some opera. These folks always say they're out of space but they give me five or six seats every time."

I shrugged. Opera wasn't one of those things that got me all warm inside, but Filius would probably enjoy it, and I wasn't one to stand in between a man and his hobbies. Usually.

"Alright, Garry, thanks," I said. We shook hands. "Nice meeting you."

"Yeah, nice to meet you," he said. He turned and walked towards the entrance.

I watched him go for a moment. The usher/planner tapped his pen impatiently against the clipboard and glanced irritably at the Royal Guards. They were still unmoving and silent, and apparently hadn't heard much of our conversation. Gary stopped right before crossing the wide doors and turned.

"Don't go looking for trouble, man," he called. "And make sure you drop by. Your Brit friends here have a nasty habit of boring me to death with their pretentious dicking around."

I laughed at the look on the usher's face and left.

* * *

Past the theatre I walked and then turned right. The weather was pleasant and a light breeze blew through the busy city. I decided Saturdays were better for walking than week days were. There was less traffic and smaller crowds. Plus I got to meet someone like Gary, who so far was the only bloke worth talking to I'd met in the past. Though to be fair I hadn't talk to many…

I pushed the matter of the Indecisive Prince and the American Magical bomber to the back of my mind. Maybe I'd get to see the guy again next weekend, maybe not. But at least he had provided me with a distraction, and if nothing else, by the time I went back to the apartment I would have something to comment to Filius, besides the usual, "Bad weather. No clues. How's the timeline?"

Although I didn't look it most of the time, I had a job to do. At the mere thinking of my 'responsibilities' and self-imposed objectives, thoughts of Riddle, Flamel and Dumbledore started running through my head. These moments usually led to frustration and discarding new and old ideas.

I had looked around Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley, but Riddle hadn't showed up, and I never saw a sign of him inside or outside Burgin & Burkes either. I had, however, discovered Flamel's estate. It wasn't something to be proud of though. It turned out the address was listed in a book that named all the famous witches and wizards that lived in Britain.

Still, progress was progress.

What irritated me the most were thoughts of Dumbledore. All that shit, all those half-baked plans and crazy theories… I didn't understand him. Sometimes I caught myself hoping there was a reason for what he did, hoping he'd really cared, because I had once cared for him too. But most of the time my cynical and experienced side would approach the memories and declare Dumbledore an incurable, lunatic asshole, maybe schizophrenic too.

Angry memories and sentient feet led me to the water. The Thames spread on both sides before me. It was a sunny, warm day with little cloud-cover, and a few Muggles were walking by the shore. Through the middle of the canal ships slowly sailed, their decks stacked with containers, while other, smaller vessels spread their jib and mainsails and leisurely sailed away.

I started walking parallel to the Thames, heading east now. It was pleasant in a way, to be able to move around Muggle London without looking over my shoulder. In the past – the future – excursions to London were rare. Voldemort's finest patrolled these places, some looking for excuses to arrest wayward Muggles, while others did so grudgingly, respectful of their superiors and orders but disgusted with their unimportant roles. Either way I ran the risk of being spotted unless carefully disguised, and on those few occasions I ventured around London there was always a bigger picture, a plan I was to carry out, a man to assassin.

By 11:30 a.m. I was once again lost. Like I said though, it wasn't much of a problem, for I could always apparate. But what did inconvenience me was a lack of knowledge on restaurants and stalls. I had never been here before and I was getting hungry already, and I didn't want to lunch on sweet smoke and Sherlock Flitwick's riddles.

The street signs told me I was walking south on Hatfields. There weren't any restaurants or food stalls within my sight. I approached a man wearing a black tuxedo and asked for directions.

He gave me an amused look. "I'm afraid you're quite far from any restaurants, young man," he said, a bit pompously perhaps, and leaned forward on his walking cane. "See that street over there? That's Roupell. Go ahead and walk that way. There's a nice place called The King's Arms – the food is excellent – shouldn't be more than ten blocks."

I blinked, surprised at the helpfulness, and said, "Thank you, sir."

A good forty feet away I heard the man call, "And do be careful. That street is a little shady."

I waved at him and resumed walking, sweating in the hot, humid day. Following the man's instructions I turned right in Roupell St. and walked past a hair salon. I paused at a newspaper stall and briefly considered buying a few other papers – anything to speed up Filius' work. The publications were, however, gossipy in their nature, and for the most part unrelated to matters that interested us. Save for the _Daily Mirror_, which I already had, there weren't any I particularly cared to read.

That's when I first noticed someone was following me.

To the casual observer he would've been lost amidst the sea of people. But I was used to keeping my eyes open for potential threats, and while this man was subtle, he wasn't an expert or very experienced.

I thanked the guy manning the newspaper stall continued walking down Roupell St., presumably in the direction of The King's Arms. My shadow followed, always there, walking leisurely half a block back.

I casually stopped and gawked around, playing the part of a curious pureblood wizard in foreign, Muggle soil, or a strangely dressed Muggle tourist. It afforded me a glance at him, and that was all I needed to identify my tail as a wizard.

He wore dark blue robes and boots that looked made out of dragon skin, had pale skin and a mane of carefully kept brown hair. There were details I was missing, but it was enough to spot the wizard among Muggles, and though I wasn't terribly worried about my well-being, knowing I was being followed had saved my life many times.

After a few blocks I felt a vague wave of magic spread over me, past the buildings to my side and above the street. The Muggles scurrying from shop to shop suddenly felt the urge to leave, and quickly closed the distance with the nearest street.

I stopped walking and turned, staring expectantly at my shadow, looking for all the world as if I'd been waiting for him. He wasn't hiding anymore. He walked confidently forwards with wand in hand, and stopped thirty feet away from me. Though I had my suspicions, the hood that felled shadows on his face prevented me from identifying him.

His faceless head swiveled to the side, watching the last of the Muggles disappear, so that the street was empty but for us. Next he spoke, his voice confident and with an eloquent cadence; a cultured man's tongue.

"To the whims of wizards do animals dance." His head turned to focus on me, and I could hear the smile in his voice when he said, "Good morning, Mr. Bonham. Having a pleasant day so far?"

"Tom Riddle," I said coolly, having recognized the high-pitched tone. "Show your face."

Pale hands pulled back the hood, revealing a handsome face with neat, brown hair, dark eyes and high cheekbones, and a chilling smile etched from side to side. "Have we met before?" he asked.

"You wouldn't remember."

The street was completely silent. Muggle cars weren't coming and going anymore, and I could see pedestrians in the next and previous blocks, but none in this one. Riddle still smiled easily at me and turned to look at one of the buildings with an indecipherable expression on his face.

It was a grim, squared-shaped building surrounded by high railings. I was hit by one of those pulls, like a _déjà vu_. There was something unnervingly familiar about this street. It made me think of Dumbledore for some reason, and that was rarely a good omen.

And then the memory came to me. I had seen this building before in someone else's memory. It was the orphanage Tom Riddle had grown in, the one Dumbledore had shown me when discussing Horcruxes and their possible locations.

"I understand you have been looking for me," Riddle said, his features relaxed, human-looking. "There is no need for this dramatic chase, Mr. Bonham. If you wish to talk to me you have but to ask politely. An owl would suffice."

I felt the adrenaline coursing through me, much like a bloodhound must feel when its prey hops ignorantly within its sight. My hands clenched into fists but I was careful not to let my thoughts show. It looked like Riddle had found me after all – though I didn't know how – and I wanted to make the most out of this moment.

"I admit this is quite unexpected," I said, and I was pleased to note my voice sounded calm. He nodded, his cool smile firmly in place and that keen intellect assessing me. "Your associate, a Mr. Borgin, claimed to have no knowledge of your whereabouts."

"Borgin?" he said amusedly. "The poor man is past his prime, I'm afraid. Excellent salesman and contacts everywhere, but his mind is not quite what it used to be." He took a step forward and raised an eyebrow elegantly. "What is it that you wish to talk to me about? Somehow I doubt this is just business as usual."

I had heard about young Tom Riddle's infamous calm and charm, a presence he exuded that naturally drew you to him. I was surprised to see how true it was. Had I not known what the man was and would later become I doubt I would've distrusted him so. But I did know – I knew better than anyone – so I was alert.

"I'm looking for the wizard with two identities," I said, thinking quickly, and gave him a bland smile. He tensed. "A man who hides his true self behind his real name, who can only be on the run or a very ambitious coward."

His eyes became guarded and he didn't hide the fact that he was close to drawing his wand. I smiled a grim smile. Riddle gave me another assessing look, as if changing his initial impression of me.

"You seem to have me at a disadvantage," he said. "How is it that you know so much about me while I know so little about you? Who are you really, and what is it that you want from me?"

He didn't sound frightened or nervous, only wary but confident he wasn't at risk, a trait that his older self had shared, and it pleased me to see this particular trait wouldn't change.

"How did you find me?" I asked, ignoring his questions.

A bit of his smugness returned to his expression as he said, "A stroke of luck, some would say."

"And what would you say?"

"Me?" He smiled confidently. "Let us say I just happened to stumble across my colleague, who seemingly against his will told me you were…painstakingly looking for me, and everything just snowballed from there. It seems I am not the only one with a fondness for chicken soup."

"Laura!" I hissed. "What the hell did you do to her?"

"Oh, dear." He smirked. "It is most unbecoming for a grown man to show such –"

"Have it your way, Riddle," I spat. "Always the double-talk, always misleading – such a snake's tongue you have."

His eyes narrowed into slits and his wand seemed to appear in his hand.

"What do you want?" he growled.

I used the conversation to get closer, walking slowly but purposefully forward. We were a mere fifteen or sixteen feet apart.

My expression darkened with every step. "What do I want? _What do I want_?" I repeated, and some of my anger bled into my voice. Riddle noticed and pointed his wand at me, as did I at him. "I want vengeance, Riddle. I want you to pay for it…"

I waved my wand in a circular motion over my head. Riddle tensed, his wand up and ready, but didn't act, because nothing happened. He looked up and noticed a speck of gold blinking to existence, which in seconds had expanded and encased the both of us like a dome; an anti-apparition and anti-portkey ward. His eyes darted from side to side.

Another step closer and he threateningly gestured for me to stop, his face blank and brown eyes tainting with specks of red. As we regarded each other silently my wand came up too and the empty street seemed to hold its breath. The orphanage beside us was quiet, the light breeze seemed to die out and every part of me was screaming retribution, screaming murder and revenge.

His wand was pointed at my chest, and mine at his.

"You must be mistaking me for someone else," he said coolly. "State your business and walk away with your life."

At that moment murder was the only thought I was capable of. Everything had led me to this moment. I could end it all now. Had he made any Horcruxes already? The first one had been a diary, according to Dumbledore. Destroying Riddle without having the diary wouldn't be permanent, but damn it if it wouldn't be satisfying.

"You are exactly who I've been looking for," I said coolly, taking a sick pleasure in my words. "…_Lord Voldemort_."

"You know not of what you speak," he snapped. His voice started to acquire a hissing quality. "For the last time, what do you want?"

"Your life, Voldemort. I'm here for your life."

He smirked at me then. That old, familiar smirk I had come to hate, and which was usually followed by the gruesome death of a bystander or a friend.

"Do you think you can beat me?"

I raised my wand and concentrated, letting my power show. A strong wind whipped the street, overturning benches and raising a cloud of dust and dirt in the air. The canopies of the trees shook and the barks bent precariously. A low rumble was heard, faint at first but quickly becoming louder, and the street shook.

I fixed Riddle with a confident look, my magic fading and the street returning to its usual stillness, and said, "I'm sure of it."

His customary aplomb vanished from his face, yet I knew he still thought he could win. I could see it in his eyes, which were slowly turning from dark brown to glowering red. He raised his wand and the light around us seemed to dim, as if the sun couldn't quite reach this street anymore.

"Then let us test your resolve," Riddle hissed. "You dare challenge Lord Voldemort? I will show you what I, only Heir of Slytherin, can do!"

"You will bleed, Riddle."

He smiled mockingly – a portent of death.

"I do not bleed anymore."

Memories flashed past in my mind; memories of Ron, body mangled, limbs torn; of Hermione, her clothes slashed open, her body bruised; of Fleur, body cut and her shame exposed, an expression of misery on her beautiful face; of Ginny, skin burnt black; of Lupin and Tonks, eyes glassy and unseeing; and of Minerva, stripped naked and throat sliced open, her body stuck to Hogwarts' main door.

"Here, Riddle – I'll _make_ you bleed!"

The tip of my wand suddenly burned a harsh red. His eyes narrowed and his wand was set ablaze too, its colour a vivid green; a green too bright to be natural, a green too dead to be right. Riddle's face twisted into something I'd seen in Dumbledore's Pensieve; his lips curled into a snarl; gleaming, white teeth bared; eyes glowing crimson; the expression I had come to expect in battle – in battles I couldn't have hoped to survive, in battles I had come close to winning, and in battles I had conquered.

And in battles I would conquer.

I wasn't the first to open fire, he was; the usual Killing Curse, Lord Voldemort's opening move. With a whirl of my cloak I vanished and reappeared on the other side of the street, and the green jet of light smashed against a red mailbox. It exploded and unsent letters flew and scattered on the sidewalk opposite me, some of them burning in a green fire.

Riddle's gaze snapped from the mailbox and to me, just in time to bring a silver shield up as my bludgeoner smashed against it. A deep, gong-like sound reverberated through the empty street, trapped inside my golden anti-portkey and anti-apparition wards. My arm buckled imperceptibly as a series of three thick jets of white light sprung towards Riddle. My smiled faltered when he seemed to reconsider his stance, and instead of shielding himself Riddle apparated a few feet to the side.

I considered changing the ward's setting to include anti-apparition within its boundaries as well, but there was little time to do it, and another idea popped into my head as I shielded myself against Riddle's return fire.

I spotted his narrowed red eyes through the flying debris, product of my spells hitting the orphanage's brick wall. There was a flash of green again and I neatly side-stepped it, brought my wand up and gave a long sweeping gesture. The small pieces of rock and dust seemed to melt and blur before grouping together. Riddle tried to blast the pieces apart but it was already too late.

A long and thick chain of rock and earth burst out of the ground. Smaller pieces of rock and dust were spewed everywhere, and Riddle, covered in white dust, apparated far away from its range and snarled, "_Avada Kedavra_."

My construct seemed to coil onto itself, much like a snake would, and sprung towards me. It met the killing curse half-way and a chunk of it exploded, jagged pieces of rock ricocheting everywhere. I tapped my wand on my left fist and a grey glow enveloped my hand. With my right arm now free I shielded myself against the debris as my eyes followed Riddle, who was keeping himself carefully away from the rock serpent and casting curses in my direction whenever he thought he could afford it.

My left arm went to the right and the animation followed. Riddle noticed and tried to blast it apart, but to no avail, and I made the construct rise and then crash on where he was standing. Just in time he managed to apparate away. The heavy rock fell and the ground shook ominously.

I felt my pulse quickening, adrenaline rushed through my veins, and I found myself grinning. Amidst the feelings of hate and righteousness there was this inexplicable sense of my power being tested, of my will being faced against another's. These were the moments I lived for, where there was nothing but my wit and power protecting me from certain death. At some point I had come to love the feeling, and surpassing a challenge had become something almost necessary, much like an alcoholic who lives to drink another day.

I cackled almost maniacally and said, "Come on, Riddle! Face me!"

His furious red eyes set on mine and he whipped his wand over his head in a circular motion. A steady stream of fire came out of it and began crawling towards me. I raised my wand and prepared myself to vanish or douse it, but the rivers of fire split and ran to the sides, far away from where I stood, and finally connected behind my back, forming a full circle around us.

While Riddle was busy with his casting I pointed my wand at the railings of the old orphanage. The iron tore from the wall behind Riddle and I shaped it to my will. It seemed to melt and contract, until what was left was a solid, thick bar of metal, taller than a grown man and as thick my waist.

Before he could finish his casting I slashed my wand to the side and the metal bar followed, wheezing through the air. Riddle saw it coming and he raised his wand to vanish it, but it was too late. It hit him squarely in the head and sent him careening against the orphanage's ruined wall.

I stalked forward, ignoring the streams of fire that ran around us, far away enough that they weren't a nuisance and close enough that I could feel the heat they gave off. Riddle tried to stand up, and against all odds he almost did, his movements slow and clumsy. He looked up with a murderous glare on his face and blood trickling from his forehead, where the metal bar had struck.

"It's over, Riddle," I said. "Drop your wand."

He wouldn't do it; there was too much pride and confidence in him. He tried to lift his wand to curse me, but I deftly disarmed him. The first Phoenix wand clattered to the ground. I raised my wand and the metal bar I'd transfigured rose silently behind me. From his position slumped on the ground, his back against the orphanage's wall, Riddle watched it slowly come closer.

"This is not over," Riddle spat, chin held up defiantly.

I stepped to the side and had the metal bar hover beside me. "No, it isn't," I said grimly. "But now you know how next time will play out."

With the swiftness and viciousness that had once brought fear to whole countries, I yelled the incantation and the metal bar was impaled through Riddle's head and the wall. Blood and brain matter were splashed everywhere.

Riddle's body convulsed, and even with its head missing his arms flailed about as if he were in pain. His skin began to decay, shriveling and darkening, and his whole body began to smoke. An inhuman scream carried through the empty street, coming from a mouth that no longer existed. Tom Riddle turned to ash, and before my very eyes, a wraith-like form, shrouded in shadows and with a pair of glittering, malevolent red eyes rose from the dead carcass and took to the sky.

I turned to watch the destroyed state of the neighborhood, feeling that perhaps it would be fair to repair it while the Muggle-Repelling Charm was still in effect.

It was in ruins; part of the pavement had deep, wide holes from where I'd gotten the necessary materials to transfigure my rock-snake, which now lay in pieces on the street; street posts had been uprooted; a circle of fire burned around me; there was a thick coating of dust and dirt on the street and sidewalks; walls had been demolished; and an acrid, repulsive smell lingered stubbornly in the air.

I raised my wand, the correct, wide-area repairing charm on my lips –

But I heard a series of popping noises coming from further down the street, and my connection to the anti-portkey and anti-apparition ward snapped. A new wave of magic descended upon me from everywhere at once, and I was quick to discover that the new ward was sturdy and well-cast; my wards had been replaced by foreign ones.

Then I heard a roaring noise, and I turned to see the thin rivers of fire Riddle had cast thickening and growing. Within seconds what had been a gentle fire became impenetrable walls of hot, blinding flames. I was completely surrounded by the cursed fire, and its heat was stifling and asphyxiating.

The flames started to close in on me as if they were sentient. With wide eyes I tried to apparate but the air felt heavy, solid – signs of an anti-apparition ward in place, one that was clearly not of my making. Desperate now, I raised my wand above my head and tried to vanish the flames. It didn't work and the fire moved closer, fast and unassailable, hot and deadly.

Thick, black smoke curled upwards. I felt my skin burning and my throat was dry from the heat. My wand shot waves of water at the flames. It worked to a certain degree, and while I wasn't out of the woods yet maybe I could keep the burning to a minimum.

The walls of fire thinned and I caught glimpses of moving shadows on the other side. Someone was trying to help. Torrents of water joined mine, and with a final cry of pain and hope I conjured a thick wall of water that expanded away from me, finally dousing the flames and revealing my surroundings.

"Drop your wand!" a voice boomed authoritatively.

There were dozens of wizards surrounding me, their wands drawn and faces grim. They were clad in red robes and golden hoods. The one who had ordered me to drop my wand stepped forward while two others put out a few small flames that had survived my tidal wave.

"Drop your wand, now!" the man repeated. "On behalf of the Ministry of Magic you are now under arrest. Resistance will be met with force. Surrender your wand and drop to your knees."

I leveled him with a glare. Dizziness gripped at me, probably due to the lack of oxygen inside the fire, and the world seemed to tilt sideways. My eyes darted from side to side, taking in the amount of wizards, and I forced my mind to think through the haze.

The place was in ruins. The street was scorched, walls had been destroyed and fire still burned in some places. Debris spread like a blanket over the block and already I could see a crowd of curious Muggles being held back by wizards dressed in green robes.

I was clearly outnumbered and my odds didn't look too good. But I was willing to fight. Who knew what would happen if I let myself be taken away? There was no way I'd spend time in Azkaban. Maybe Filius could help me break out, but how to inform him?

My mind ran in circles. I was losing the battle with this dizzy spell that had taken over me. Maybe I would be sent to jail, but I'd try and make a run for it first. Yes, I decided I would fight my way out of here.

"Drop it!" the man said again, and I noticed the other Aurors tense, their wands pointed at me and expressions wary.

"Screw that," I muttered.

With a turn I gathered my power and tried again to apparate away. My magic met the ward and struggled against it. It was a sturdy, well-cast barrier, but I was confident I could break it, given enough time.

And it turned out time was one thing I didn't have.

The Aurors recognized my movements for what they were and with cries of "_Stupefy_" a wall of red light sped towards me. I felt the ward begin to give away, but right before I could plough through a stunner hit me and everything went black.

* * *

_A/n: Ladies and gents, thanks for reading this far. Drop me a review if you're feeling generous._


	6. St Mungo's Hospital

_A/N: Sorry for the long delay, everyone. This 12k words bastard of a chapter took a long time to write. I had first tried writing this from Filius' POV, but it clashed horribly with the tone and style of the rest of the story. I was forced to dump the 8k words I already had and start from scratch. Not pleasant._

_IMPORTANT: Please note that I made a slight modification to the ending of the chapter previous to this one: Bloodhound. You will notice the part about Filius going to rescue Harry has been removed, and as such, this chapter is about Harry's stay in the hospital, from his POV. Also keep in mind Harry's fight with Riddle in the last chapter has been changed. If you care to read about it, head to the previous chapter and see how it differs (you can start after he meets Gary and walks parallel to the Thames). If you don't want to waste time reading about that, here's the gist of it: Harry kills Riddle. With a ten foot-long metal bar. That's right._

_However, I strongly suggest you give that a read. Tiny details and clues of that meeting between Harry and Riddle will be important later on._

_On related news, I happily inform you I've gotten myself a badass beta-reader, CareOtters, who has bitch-slapped my work until it's deemed presentable. Thank you, man! Also, in between waiting for updates on this story, I recommend giving my beta's work a look. The story is called "**The**** Gravesong Requiem**", by CareOtters, and it's about a Necromancer Harry. I guarantee you've never seen anything like it._

_If you're here because Joe recommended me (thanks, Joe), you should know by now that he has uploaded an introduction to the sequel of Wastelands of Time, called **Heartlands of Time**. If you haven't read it already, then go do so._

_Thank you for your time and enjoy._

* * *

**A Clock on the Face of Hell**

**Chapter 5: St. Mungo's Hospital**

I remember very little after I was taken by the Aurors.

Some sounds and smells and images are still with me today, but for the most part I was treated to a whirlwind of brief, hazy moments I can't quite recall. I remember Healers looking down at me, their heads surrounded by translucent bubbles like upturned fishbowls. I remember being portkeyed away from Roupell St. and being levitated through the winding corridors of St. Mungo's Hospital.

But what I remember most clearly is the pain; liquid fire coursing through my veins, my heart beating wildly, unknowingly pumping the poison and spreading it through my body. I recall that I was given five different sedatives before I was numb enough to stop thrashing on the bed. It was one of the most unpleasant experiences in my life.

Tom Riddle's use of Fiendfyre had been a particularly clever move, one that I admit I hadn't foreseen. My short moment of smug triumph had been quickly drowned by the unassailable walls of hot and deadly fire, and to this day I bear the marks of the procedure that saved my life.

My fight with Riddle took place on a Saturday 21st of January, 1945, and it would be weeks before I was deemed healthy enough to be discharged. Or rather, deemed healthy enough by the Healers. The Aurors, it turned out, weren't willing to wait that long.

I was mostly unconscious through that Saturday, and a large part of Sunday and Monday, too. My memories of the beginning of the week are somewhat sharper than the rest but still quite hazy. Time blurred, making it impossible for me to tell what happened, when and how.

Tuesday was better. I remember a rather unattractive Healer changing my bandages and a sour-looking Auror supervising the whole ordeal. My faculties weren't all there yet, and when I tried to speak I found my mouth dry and my tongue uncooperative. A handsome Healer in his mid-thirties detachedly informed me I was still heavily sedated.

On Wednesday I woke up to find I was a convict.

The sun filtered through the wide window and the open, yellowish drapes. I opened my eyes blearily and groped for my glasses. The first thing I discovered was the handcuffs. I was tied to the metal railings that ran parallel to my bed, and tugging only made an annoying rattling noise that unfortunately caught the attention of the room's other occupant.

"So you're up," the man said. "Thought you were going to die on that bed. Too bad, I guess."

I raised my head as much as I could and looked for the source of that unpleasant drawling voice. Without my glasses the room was blurry, but I could make out the shape of a man sitting on the opposite side of the room, his legs crossed and a newspaper open in front of him. I sighed tiredly and dropped back on the bed.

"Call the Healer, will you?" I croaked. "This dreamless-sleep potion isn't working. I had a nightmare about an asshole invading my private room."

I heard the newspaper being closed and tossed aside, and heavy footsteps coming closer to my bed. "I'm an Auror, kid," the man said. His voice was raspy, as if he hadn't spoken for a while. "Drop the bloody cheek or I'll have you carted off to Azkaban wearing that nightgown."

"Just give me my glasses back, tough guy," I said distractedly. "I want to see the look on your face when I break out."

The man walked to his seat and let out a muffled sigh as he dropped back down. "You're awfully cocky for a bloke who's looking at more than twenty five years in prison," the man said. "Perhaps you'll be happy to see you've made the front page. Congratulations, you've won yourself the hate of every witch and wizard I've come across."

The Auror pulled out his wand and levitated the newspaper towards me. Then, with a flick of his wand he opened a drawer, summoned my glasses and tossed them for me to catch. It didn't escape my notice that he was wary of coming close to me. It seemed I was building up a reputation quite fast.

I put my glasses on and gave him a long, speculative look, weighing with my eyes. The Auror was rather portly and looked tired. He was at least fifty years old, had perfectly combed brown hair, thick eyebrows and a thin mouth, framed by a carefully trimmed beard. He was dressed in standard Auror uniform; a long, red robe that reached his ankles and brown boots that looked made out of a Peruvian Vipertooth's hide.

He raised his eyebrows at me and glanced down meaningfully at the newspaper. I gave him a small smirk and picked it up. There, staring at me from the front page was a huge picture of the Auror that had ordered me to drop my wand. He looked to be giving an interview and seemed inordinately pleased with himself. In the background I could see the miserable state of Roupell St. after Riddle and I had been done with our fight.

The article read:

_Tuesday, January 24th, 1945__  
__**Severe breach of the International Statute of Secrecy**__  
Suspect is already in custody  
By Michael de Santi_

_Yesterday Aurors received notice of a significant output of magic in Roupell St. and Windmill Walk, Muggle London. Officers arrived at the scene to find a large fireball consuming an already wrecked landscape._

_"[…] terrible thing," an eye-witness commented. "I was walking close by when I heard the explosions. It sounded like a duel, but when we got there all we saw was fire. Then the Aurors showed up and put out the fire. And there he was, a man standing right where [the fire] had been. He seemed ready to fight his way out, but of course he was subdued before he could try."_

_Witnesses confirmed the state of the street was "beyond repair". The pavement had been torn apart, walls leveled down, surrounding houses and businesses scorched by the terrible fire, and what an Auror swears was "a gigantic piece of transfiguration shaped like a huge snake, and made of rock." This Auror, who wishes to remain anonymous, further said, "If I didn't know any better I'd say Professor Dumbledore did it. He's the only one I know that can pull it off without killing himself."_

_But it turns out the Aurors managed to capture the suspect, who powerful or not was apparently too exhausted and injured to escape. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has yet to release a statement, but anonymous sources within the Ministry have assured the media that the respected Professor Dumbledore was in no way related to the destruction of this Muggle street, as he was teaching at Hogwarts at the time of the crime._

_The suspect, who reliable sources claim is not registered in the Ministry, apparently lost control of his magic while destroying this peaceful Muggle neighborhood. Experts suggest Fiendfyre was the cause of the destruction and the most likely explanation as to why the caster himself was severely injured._

_St. Mungo's has confirmed to be treating the suspect, who suffered Class B burns from a cursed object, which in this case we assume was the fire. Healers expect him to be healthy soon. _

_As of yet a hearing before the Wizengamot has not been fixed. However, the criminal has already been processed and convicted with the following charges: destruction of property, use of magic in a Muggle area, a Level Two breach of the International Statute of Secrecy and resisting arrest._

_Lord Grindelwald's reputed involvement, Page 4.__  
__The dangers of casting Fiendfyre, Page 7.__  
__Stricter policies in the Magical Signature Registration Office? Editorial Note._

"Well fuck me, I'm famous," I muttered.

The Auror looked at me with a small smile on his face, as if nothing could make him happier than a suspect realizing he was truly and thoroughly screwed. I returned his look with one of supreme nonchalance. I had been in worse situations – far worse than being in Auror custody. If I'd once managed to break out of a heavily secured castle in the middle of nowhere – and bring the whole building down in the process, mind you – I was confident this tiny room wouldn't hold me for long.

"So we're in St. Mungo's then?"

He ignored my question. "Quite the list of charges you've stacked up, eh?" he commented. "What's more, that article is from yesterday – old news, I'm afraid. Today's papers are raving about that man you killed. Crime Scene specialists found traces of a burnt body on that orphanage's wall. Chances are you won't be seeing daylight again in this life."

I shrugged, tossed the newspaper aside and leaned back on the bed. "So…where's my wand?"

"Not here."

A twinge of dread swept over me. "What'd you do with it? Haven't destroyed it, I hope?"

The man gave me an unconcerned look. "Probably stored as evidence for now," he said. "Don't think you'll be using it any time soon."

I gritted my teeth and looked away. There were many things I could tolerate, many situations I could learn to ignore, but having my wand taken away from me, lost to the inept bureaucracy of the English wizarding government was not something I took lightly. If that wand, if that particular wand was ever lost…

I tried not to let my anger show. My hands clenched into fists and the links of the handcuffs rattled slightly. I stared out the window at the landscape, trying to relax. I would get my wand back soon enough. I just had to bide my time until the opportunity presented itself and I would be out of here, free to search for the second Phoenix wand and ready to remove Riddle's next head.

"Aren't you going to interrogate me?" I asked casually.

The Auror yawned and propped his feet up on a chair. "Not me," he said in a bored tone. "There's already enough evidence to put you away for as long as we please. You'll get your turn to answer questions the day of the hearing. I suggest you save your story for someone who cares."

I nodded distractedly, and as I kept staring out the window, asked, "What's your name, Auror?"

"Auror Wilson to you."

"Auror Wilson," I repeated slowly. "No, can't say I've heard of you before. Are you close to retirement?"

Through the corner of my eye I caught a wistful look on his face for a moment. "Less than a year away, in fact. Why?"

"Because you'll lose your pension if you stay in this shift," I said. I turned to look at him, and he must have seen something in my eyes that made him pause. "By the end of the day I'll be abroad and you'll be explaining to your superiors how a suspect in custody managed to break out. Then you'll be asked why you and your partner standing outside were stunned, and how come I still had time to drink a cup of tea in the visitors' lounge on the fifth floor."

The fear left his eyes as quickly as it had come. "Is that so?" He chuckled. "Let me tell you, I have never had a suspect escape on my watch. And I sure as hell won't stain my record now, kid."

"Oh, you will," I said very quietly as I turned to look around the room. "You will."

We fell silent, each lost in our own thoughts. Now that I had my glasses I could see the rest of the room. It was mostly bare, but there were signs of someone spending a significant amount of time inside. There were old newspapers and magazines stacked on a chair, brown paper bags that smelled of food, and empty plastic cups and a gray inkwell with a quill dipped inside that sat on a small table by the door.

At what I guessed was midday the door opened and another man dressed in Auror regalia peered inside. Auror Wilson made an impatient gesture with his hand and a Healer assistant walked in carrying a tray laden with food. She self-consciously glanced at the Aurors and me, and as quickly as she could she left the tray on the table and walked out.

Auror Wilson gave a distracted flick of his wand and levitated the tray towards me. Soup. They gave me soup, two pieces of bread and some kind of fudge I didn't even touch. I washed down the last of my bread with some water and was pleased to note my throat and mouth didn't feel as dry as before.

"You'd be eating processed cardboard if it were up to me," Auror Wilson commented at some point. I ignored him.

Nothing happened from midday to noon. My cheerful companion kept to his newspapers and magazines, and I was busy thinking about Riddle, escaping and Filius. More than once I wondered if Filius had caught on to what had happened, and if he had, what he was planning to do about it.

But most of my thoughts were on Riddle. I kept imagining that wraith-like shadow gliding over the ocean, quickly covering ground across Europe and settling in Albania. For that was where he was most likely to go. Dumbledore and I had never found out what it was exactly that Voldemort did there, or why he had chosen Albania of all places.

I was sure I would be seeing Riddle again very soon.

I watched the sun slowly bury itself in the horizon. It must have been around 8:00 p.m. when I heard voices on the other side of the door. I recognized the voice of the Auror stationed outside, the one who'd asked Wilson if the room was safe for the Healer assistant to come in. There was another voice, too; older, more mature and slightly bossy – their superior, perhaps.

"He's here? What is he doing here?"

"Visiting his brother, as far as I know, sir."

There was a pause. Auror Wilson gave me a bored look and picked up a magazine, poorly pretending not to hear the conversation outside.

"Ask him to come in then," the older of the two finally said. "We could do with a good Reader. Damn Robards chooses the worst of times to visit his family."

"He missed Christmas, sir."

There was a moment of silence. I could clearly imagine the look on the young Auror's face when his superior turned to glare at him. And then one of them walked away. The sound of his boots hitting the tiled floor carried through to me faintly, and disappeared altogether as he rounded the corner.

The door to my room opened and the young Auror stepped inside. "I'm leaving my post for a few minutes," he told Wilson. "I'll be back as soon as I can." He glanced at me, lying in bed with a bandage around my upper torso and hands cuffed to the railings, and grinned at Wilson. "Think you can handle him by yourself for a while?"

Auror Wilson glared at him. "Get lost, Hayden," he said. "You wouldn't know the tip of your wand even if I were to stick it up your ass and use it as a lever."

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Auror Hayden gave Wilson a mocking smile, turned and opened the door. Wilson called, "And bring me a cup o' tea, will you?" The door closed and we were once again left in silence.

But now there was no one left to call for reinforcements outside; it was just me and this old Auror. The situation reminded me of the good old days, when my enemies would constantly mock me and underestimate me. The witches and wizards of 1945 were already speculating about me and what I could do. Perhaps the time had come for me to show these people just why whole countries shuddered at the thought of the Dark Lord Potter walking down their streets at night.

Today was a Wednesday, and I was a convict on Wednesdays.

* * *

Approximately five minutes had passed since Auror Hayden left. I remained deceptively docile, and even when the same ugly Healer came by to change my bandages I was cooperative and friendly. The process took less than a few seconds, and the Healer left with a smile on her face, unaware of just whom she had told, "You're a doll."

Auror Wilson kept me under his watchful eye, though. Perhaps it was my comment about his pension that had him wary. Or maybe knowing I'd crushed a man's head with a six foot-long metal bar. Whatever the reason, he wasn't buying my polite demeanor.

Ten minutes later I was sure Auror Hayden was well away from my room and looking for whoever this Reader was. Wilson's vigilance relaxed when it became clear I was held securely in place and wouldn't be trying anything funny. His faith in a piece of metal was misplaced. Some wizards might not be capable of minor feats of unfocused magic, but I sure am.

I leaned back on the bed, closed my eyes and concentrated. The handcuffs grew warm and rattled almost imperceptibly. I kept the flow steady and slow, not wanting to start off with the fireworks while my captor carried a wand and I didn't. It took more than a little effort and concentration to force magic the way it didn't naturally want to go.

I heard the faintest _click _of the metal links being forced open. I looked down and hid a smug smile. The handcuffs were still firmly secured around my wrists, but the thick coil of steel that bound me to the railings had snapped. It was a very small, very insignificant tear in one of the links, and it was more than enough.

Auror Wilson ran his fingers through his perfectly trimmed moustache and settled more comfortably on his seat. I could make out the cover of a transfiguration magazine open in front of him. He glanced up and gave me another one of those bored, slightly contemptuous looks and returned to his lazy perusal of _Transfiguration Today. _I smiled calmly at him and concentrated.

I didn't immediately jump out of bed and try to wrestle the wand out of his grip like the crazed convict I was supposed to be. I did the smart thing – I waited. And concentrated. The aging Auror would stare fixedly at the magazine while I seemed to busy myself with the illusionary landscape outside, looking the very picture of a man resigned to his fate. He turned one page, two pages, ten pages. I still waited. And concentrated.

On a small table beside the door, a grey inkwell shattered to pieces, startling both of us.

Wilson's eyes snapped up in time to see shards of glass falling to the floor and the quill that had been resting inside the inkwell burn. He shot me a suspicious look but I was still sitting on the bed, wandless, and I looked as surprised and confused as he did. I let my concentration slip and the small fire that burned around the fallen quill dimmed and died.

"What the hell…" I heard him mutter.

The old Auror stood up and walked towards the small table, his heavy boots crunching the pieces of glass that lay on the floor. I remained in place; patient, waiting. When he bent over to pick up the burnt quill I made my move.

I made no sound; the bed didn't creak and I kept the handcuffs around my wrists still, so as to avoid the clinking noise that could've given me away. I leapt out of bed and charged at him. Auror Wilson turned just in time to stick his hand in his pocket, but before he could pull his wand out I smashed my fist against his jaw.

With a grim look on my face I watched his body fall, the momentum of my blow carrying him backwards. To the man's credit, the heavy hit I'd landed didn't knock him out, but even as he dazedly moved on the floor I knew he was no longer a threat. He probably hadn't been one to begin with.

"Sorry 'bout that, Willy," I said as I picked up his wand. "But I did tell you about that pension."

Wilson spat a mouthful of blood on the floor and glared at me. "You won't make it out," he growled, supporting the weight of his body with one arm in a half-sitting position. "And when you get caught they'll add assaulting an Auror and attempted escape to your list of charges. You'll die in Azkaban."

I gave him a bored look. "Willy, do I look like I give a damn?" I gestured at his boots. "Take them off."

"What?"

"Take your boots off, man," I repeated impatiently. "They look good and I won't walk out of here barefoot."

Auror Wilson kept his narrowed eyes on me as he slowly undid the buckles. There was a certain satisfaction in watching the man who had been smugly telling you you'd rot in prison remove his expensive Auror boots and reluctantly toss them to you.

I kept an eye on him as I tried the dragon hide boots on. To my delight, they fit me quite well. Wilson never took his eyes off of me and I pretended like I couldn't see his hand creeping closer to his ankle. Filius had already told me the Auror Corps of 1945 hadn't seen war since the last Goblin rebellion in 1827, but if Wilson represented the level of competence of this time, I very much doubted Grindelwald would be kept out of Britain for long.

"Think they'll kick you off the force then?" I asked pleasantly as I did the silver fastenings of the boots, watching him through the corner of my eye.

He smiled a thin smile. "Oh, I doubt they will."

"No? And why's that?"

Auror Wilson quickly lifted the hem of his robe, and in a completely expected move, he pulled out a spare wand from a holster strapped around his ankle. By the time he looked up with a pleased expression on his face and had his wand vaguely pointed at me, I had already stood up and leveled mine between his eyes.

Wilson froze as I grinned dangerously at him.

"_Stupefy."_

There was a flash of red light and the old Auror's eyes rolled to the back of his head, his wand clattered to the ground and he dropped backwards with a soft thud, unconscious. I chuckled and picked up the spare wand, feeling quite pleased with myself. With a lazy flick of my wand I levitated the unresponsive body towards the bed and covered his face with the starched white sheets.

I casually transfigured the easily recognizable pajamas of a patient into a black shirt and a pair of jeans. It would fade with time – transfigurations always do – but hopefully I'd be out of the country by the time that happened.

My eyes fell on the scattered pieces of the inkwell I'd used as a distraction. With a deft twirl of the wand, the shards of glass joined together and the quill returned to its pristine state, and with another flick, the whole set glided towards the table by the door, where it remained still and unbroken.

Auror Hayden could be back with the Reader any second. Just like Cutters was the term most commonly used by Aurors to refer to the forensics team, Reader was what they called a certified Legilimens, and these folk were very rarely weak. And although I very much doubted the two of them could stop me – my body felt fine, my magic strong and my muscles hadn't suffered any damage by the short stay in the hospital – I would rather avoid confrontations if at all possible.

I needed to traverse the long, winding corridors of St. Mungo's and make it to the reception area without being seen. It would be a hard feat to accomplish, but there was no choice; the whole building was layered with anti-apparition wards, and the only place available for travel was the Ground Floor. Luckily my picture hadn't appeared in the media – that would have complicated things – and as it were, I was counting on civilians not being able to recognize me on sight.

Before I stepped outside I tapped my head with the tip of Wilson's wand and felt the customary cold spread down my back. The spell didn't work as well as I'd expected it to; I wasn't invisible, merely translucent. I blamed it on the poor affinity I had with the wand, but thought that if I was careful, walked close to the walls and didn't make any sound I would be fine.

The door was unlocked. I stepped outside and took a good look at my surroundings. There was no one there to see the door being opened from the inside, and I was at the end of the hallway. Solid-looking white doors lined the walls, and to my right I could see that the corridor forked.

I quickly stuffed the wand inside one of my recently transfigured pockets, closed the door behind me and walked down the corridor. A plastic sign that hung from the ceiling read: _Fourth Floor, Spell Damage_. I took a left and kept walking, and when I rounded the corner I saw a wide staircase. I soundlessly made my way towards it, giddy with the promise of freedom.

As I got close to the stairs, however, slow, steady footsteps reached my ears. It was coming from the staircase – from downstairs and getting louder as whoever it was climbed the steps. I hesitated. A civilian wouldn't recognize me even if he were to see me, but an Auror would curse first and ask questions later.

I walked slowly, conscious of how much noise my handcuffs could make. From behind the wall that bordered the staircase half-way to the fifth floor, I saw Auror Hayden slowly making his way towards an open room, where he stopped and cursed under his breath.

"Where the hell is he…?" he muttered.

Hayden sighed tiredly, pulled out his wand and tapped it on the bare wall beside the doorframe. A small, square-shaped metal plaque materialized. It buzzed softly and turned blue. Hayden nodded, satisfied, and headed downstairs, presumably looking for the Legilimens.

From the moment I'd broken the links of my handcuffs I had had a plan; I knew exactly what I would do to get out. But Hayden not yet realizing I was missing complicated things. I leaned against the wall and my eyes settled on the landing of the fifth floor, shy a few steps away from where I stood. I needed to wait, and I needed to do it someplace I wouldn't be seen.

I climbed the remaining steps, cancelled the Disillusionment charm and pushed open the glass door to the visitors' lounge. There were a few witches and wizards sitting in small booths around the large room. I sat down on a stool by the bar and called the guy manning the place.

"A cup of tea, please. Extra sugar."

The employee turned and repeated the order to a woman wearing an apron. I relaxed in my seat and picked up a discarded newspaper. The front page showed a grim-looking man in a green robe picking up a very familiar holly wand and showing it to the camera. The caption read: _Crime Scene specialists_ _find evidence of murder in the Roupell St. case. Pg. 3._

"Pretty mad, eh?" the bartender commented. "This bloke, I mean. He's got the juice and the skills, and he still got caught in the act. Makes you wonder what exactly he was doing there and why."

I drummed my fingers on the counter, pretending to think. "Maybe he thought Muggle London could do with some remodeling."

"Well, can't disagree with you on that." He chuckled. "My cousin lives close by. She says the place could be tagged and sold as an antique."

A bored female voice called, "Tea!" From the customary glass-free window beside the alcohol cabinet of the bar, a teacup and saucer came hovering through. The bartender picked up the levitation charm and settled the beverage in front of me with a flourish.

"Thanks."

I had promised Auror Wilson I'd have a cup of tea before leaving, and I was now drinking it slowly and in silence. The civilians having a snack in the visitors' lounge of St. Mungo's Hospital never knew the very man some of them were discussing was sitting right there with them. I smiled pleasantly when talked to or greeted, and even as I thought about how I could get my hands on Riddle's wand – the one shown in the newspaper – and my own, I kept an eye on the door and thought about where Filius and I would go once I got out of here.

* * *

My pocket watch had been lost to the unknown enchantments that protected the underground tunnels around the Clock in Lac du Der-Chantecoq, France. It was probably sitting safely inside my Mokeskin pouch. Thus, I didn't know the exact time, but I thought I had spent around ten or fifteen minutes in the visitors' lounge already, and figured it was safe to leave.

I made sure the barman, the waitress and the cook were distracted, and when I saw my window of opportunity I quietly walked out the room without paying. Right then and there I didn't have a single Knut, but maybe one day I would donate enough gold to build a new wing. Maybe even buy some quality tea bags, too.

I stepped outside and let the glass door close behind me. "Evening," I said with a polite nod to a young couple that was climbing the stairs. "Did you happen to see a young Auror and another man while you came up? Maybe on the fourth floor?"

"No, not at all," the man said apologetically. "Sorry. And good luck."

"Thanks," I answered.

I silently descended the stairs, pulled out my wand and once again cast the Disillusionment charm on myself. There was an old woman limping towards an open door at the end of the hallway, but no sign of any Aurors. Heartened, I stepped out of the staircase, and under the dim lights of the corridor, I quickly turned and made to keep going down, thinking of the ground floor and the moment I'd finally be free.

I hadn't taken three steps before I heard a familiar voice. It suddenly dawned on me just who was the Reader – or Legilimens – the Aurors were counting on. The voice was coming from an open door near the wide flight of stairs. Hidden behind the wall that bordered the staircase, I poked my head out and listened.

"…left then?" someone inside the room said. "What, two Aurors on duty and many stationed downstairs, and he just walked out the door?"

"It appears so," another said gravely. "Young Hayden and I found the room empty and Auror Wilson – you remember him, don't you, Abe? He was lying unconscious on the bed. At first glance it looks like he was stunned. Both his wands are missing and he received a rather strong blow to the jaw."

"I see."

There was a moment of silence. I was pressed against the wall, my heart pumping fast, my thoughts a whirlwind of images and memories. I knew I had to leave. My rational brain screamed at me to go down the stairs and apparate away. Very slowly I did, descending the stairs almost sideways so that I could stare at the open door for a moment longer.

"Well then, I shall leave you to rest," said the one standing by the door. There was an air of awkwardness between him and the other man. "Do let me know should you need anything."

I caught a glimpse of auburn hair and purple robes, but by the time Albus Dumbledore turned and closed the door behind him I was already out of sight, hiding behind the wall that bordered the large staircase. I heard Dumbledore mutter an incantation, one I recognized, and felt a very soft breeze travel from downstairs and through the fourth floor.

I was familiar with that particular revealing enchantment, so I wasn't worried. The results would point Dumbledore towards the room I had vacated or the fifth floor landing, because that was where I'd cast spells. The corridor and this part of the staircase would show clear of any magic – or at least of my magic.

His spell did indeed point him towards my room, and I heard his footsteps moving away from where I stood. I took a brief look around the wall and gave Dumbledore's back a hard stare; a mixture of longing and betrayal.

Seeing him again brought back in full force those doubts that had been slowly creeping their way into my mind since I'd arrived to 1945. I couldn't ignore it any longer. One of these days I'd have to reintroduce myself to him, if only for my peace of mind.

From that point onwards I was met with little to no resistance. I shook useless doubts and morbid thoughts out of my head and descended the stairs in silence. I focused on Filius, Flamel and the Stone – _always think dangerous thoughts, Potter, and if you're vigilant you'll get to see what the proper frame of mind does to a fighter – _and the mere thought of breaking into the house of one of the most experienced wizards to ever walk the Earth brought a grin to my face and a shot of adrenaline through my body.

I made it to the ground floor unchallenged. The reception hall of St. Mungo's was a very long, very wide room, with tall marble columns erected for decoration and circular windows that lined the walls, showing the same green, illusionary landscape. There was an arched doorway that led to the apparition zone and several free-of-charge fireplaces had been built near the staircase.

This part of the hospital was always busy. Far from where I stood, right by the main entrance that connected with Muggle London, behind a half-loop counter, were three Mediwitches that dealt with the dozens of witches and wizards that poured in. Future patients and family crowded the seating areas.

I stopped just within the secluded structure of the staircase. My Disillusionment charm slowly faded and it would be a few more minutes before I could cast another one. My old, trusted Phoenix-core wand could've made it work for at least three times longer, but Wilson's wand was all I had. I stayed behind the wall, wondering if I should just walk out of St. Mungo's like any other civilian, yet I hesitated.

The general air of the reception hall felt light and friendly, and the civilians that crowded the place didn't seem at all concerned. It was unlikely they had been informed about a potentially dangerous criminal's escape. But something felt wrong. It was my hardened, polished sense of awareness that screamed something was out of place. I couldn't quite place my finger on it, but walking towards the exit was the wrong move to make.

And then I saw them.

A hazy, blurry motion caught my eye by one of the windows closest to me – an almost invisible movement that could've been easily missed amongst the throngs of moving people. There were invisible Aurors strategically located all over the place – at least eight that I could count – just waiting to ambush any suspicious-looking characters that happened to ignorantly walk past their hiding places.

I drew back, leaned against the wall and laughed quietly to myself. It was almost too easy. Most weren't even wearing invisibility cloaks, which would have rendered them completely invisible to the naked eye. They were using Disillusionment charms, just like I had, and with a casual flick of my wand I could make them all stand out like mountain trolls in a Wizengamot session.

The best laid plans sometimes fail, but I always made sure whatever I cooked up was just a basic guideline, a vague plan of action that could be modified to fit the ever-changing variables. And that's what I did.

Instead of stealing some Healer's robes and walking out the door as if I'd just finished my evening shift in the hospital, I pulled out my wand and changed a few of my most noticeable features. I became a brown-haired, thirty-year-old, blue-eyed man with a rather ridiculous goatee, and I modeled my glasses to look like the half-moon spectacles Dumbledore usually wore.

I knew most Aurors weren't familiar with my face, other than from cursory description by another Auror or from a brief glance when I was arrested. Such a basic disguise would be more than enough to fool them. Hell, even a fake beard with tiny twists of wire over my ears would probably have been enough, but taking an extra precaution never hurt anybody.

"More than eight, more than eight," I muttered distractedly as I looked for a particularly elusive Auror. "More than eight means a Captain… Where are you, you sneaky bastard…"

Then I spotted him. Unlike their subordinates, Captain Aurors always carry invisibility cloaks. It is one of those little things the Ministry does to reward and distinguish them. And how did I spot him? You don't remain invisible for long if you walk amidst a crowd. To the experienced eye, a civilian looking confusedly over her shoulder means caution.

The only properly invisible Auror stepped away from the crowd and the tell-tale signs of his passing stopped by a wide marble pillar. I kept my eyes on the seemingly empty space for a while, wanting to make sure he wouldn't be moving any time soon.

Inconspicuously walking behind a tanned young man and his son, I ambled closer. No one noticed my stealthy approach. I left the man and his son be on their way and stepped behind the pillar. Right in front of me, I could hear the rustling of the cloak and his slow, steady breaths.

The Captain Auror never heard me. I moved my hands slowly forward, feeling for the cloak, and when I grazed it, seized it with both hands and pulled hard. Choking sounds escaped the man I'd caught with the cloak around his throat. He gulped thickly and gagged, and I felt his hands clumsily trying to slap mine away, clawing desperately at me. But I didn't relent.

As his movements became more sluggish and half-hearted, I released the cloak. But rather than letting him catch his breath, I grabbed his still invisible shoulder and the small of his back and banged his head against the solid wall. There came a sharp noise and a dull thud as the Captain Auror dropped to the ground, unconscious.

I checked his pulse and breathing to make sure I hadn't accidentally killed him. They were faint but there, so I made sure he was properly covered by the cloak and stepped out from behind the column. I idly glanced around the reception hall and walked away. Nobody had seen me.

Why didn't I just take the invisibility cloak and leave? Because other Aurors can see under their fellow Aurors' cloaks. All it takes is a badge strapped around their wrists. Besides, I couldn't just leave yet. I needed to make a statement of sorts, to make sure these people understood why trying to imprison me was a bad idea.

Now that I was deeper into the room I could see that my initial estimate of eight had been a little short. At least ten more Aurors were spaced around at regular intervals, not including the Captain I'd left in an unconscious heap. The one nearest to me was leaning against a huge fireplace, and if I were to do something, odds were a civilian would notice.

I crept closer. The Auror, recognizable as a trainee by the lack of a golden hood draped across his shoulders, was busy ogling a well-endowed woman who had chosen that moment to bend over and pick up a jar of floo powder.

I covertly pointed my wand at her rear and wordlessly fired a tickling charm. The woman straightened up, outraged, and turned to slap the nearest male she could find. Using the distraction, I stepped beside the Auror, who turned his quasi-invisible head to find my wand pointed at his chest. I grinned at him.

"_Stupefy," _I whispered.

The flash of red light was lost amidst the swooshing and roaring of the flames in the fireplace, and the amusing sight of a man protesting his innocence to his wife and the curious bystanders. I hesitated. The trainee's Disillusionment charm would fade faster now that he was unconscious. But I couldn't move him either, as that would draw unwanted attention.

The decision was made for me when a kid tripped over the trainee Auror's slack body. The six-year-old stumbled and fell, and laughed delightedly on the ground as he prodded with his foot the object that had caused and cushioned his fall.

Already knowing what would happen next, I walked away. Sure enough, the blurry figures of the semi-invisible Aurors started to converge on the spot where the baffled crowds had surrounded the invisible object. They were fairly organized, too, as I noticed three of them stayed in their posts by the arched doorway that led to the apparition zone.

As I'd predicted, the charm, no longer powered by the trainee's magic, quickly faded and the body came into view. A woman screamed shrilly, which was followed by a short moment of silence. Then another woman screamed and soon the rest of the crowd was spurred into panic. Some tried fleeing through the fireplaces, but the sheer amount of people pushing to get inside became a hindrance, and only a few managed to leave.

Chaos was good. Chaos was my friend. Lost in the panicked racket of a paranoid crowd, no one saw me stun an Auror hurrying towards her peer's aid. I pocketed her wand. Spares were always handy.

The Aurors soon restored their control over the fireplaces, pushing the crowds back. Three of them stayed there to prevent anyone from leaving. We were all suspects now.

Since the Captain was conspicuously missing, an Auror in his early forties, likely the next in rank, took charge of the situation.

"Attention, please!" he called authoritatively. "No one is allowed to leave the reception hall until we find the one responsible for this." The people shouted their disapproval. "Silence! House, Fuller, cover the staircase and send someone to check the upper floors. The suspect might've gone upstairs in the confusion. I want the main entrance sealed, too. No one comes in or leaves without my saying so."

"Is it the Roupell Killer?" a civilian shouted anxiously at the Auror. "Is – is it him doing this?"

As if he were standing before journalists, the man raised his chin and announced, "At present time we cannot be certain. Rest assured though, the one responsible will be found shortly –"

"_Bloody hell!" _another man interrupted loudly. "There's been another one! Here, look! She's unconscious."

"Here, too! This is Captain Toner!"

The crowds parted to allow the Auror in charge to inspect the woman I had just stunned and deprived from her wand. Another Auror walked towards where I'd knocked out the Captain Auror. I inched closer to the fifty or so witches and wizards that had been trapped inside the reception hall. As the Auror knelt beside her, I glanced to my left, where a man stood with his brow creased in confusion.

"Mad, eh?" I said to him, echoing the bartender of the visitors' lounge. "Someone's banging up Aurors and they expect us to stay here. We'll be slaughtered like animals in the crossfire."

The man looked nervous. People close to us heard what I'd said, too, and half-turned to hear our conversation.

"You think?" he answered, glancing from side to side, as if trying to see the 'killer' coming. "I mean, they can deal with this, right? No need to panic and all."

"I'm not so sure," I said, my voice fading into a conspiring whisper. "I don't wish to start a panic, but so far three of them have been knocked out, the Captain included. And why were they all here in the first place? I think it's because of that Roupell Killer bloke. No other reason."

The man gulped audibly and the rest of my audience whispered anxiously with one another. Soon my comments would be spread among the rest of the civilians.

Satisfied, I moved closer to one of the fireplaces that lined the wall, my escape route of choice. I didn't try to bypass the Aurors. If things worked out the way I wanted to, there would be no need for me to curse them.

But the moment one of the Aurors glanced at me I knew I'd done something wrong. Eyes wide, he shakily pulled out his wand and stumbled backwards, his lips moving in soundless fear.

With nary a glance at my surroundings, I drew my wand and jabbed it in his direction while I dropped to one knee. The Auror's admittedly power-packed disarming spell sailed past above my head, but my blasting curse caught him in his chest. In wordless pain, he was roughly pushed backwards, slammed his head against the bricks that framed the fireplace, and dropped to the ground. He didn't move again.

The other Auror stationed by the fireplace had seen my little stunt. "Miller!" she called to the Auror in charge. "He's here, Miller! _Impedimenta! Velio! Stupefy! Sectum!_"

I stood up, batted away her hexes and quickly walked backwards, heading into the crowd. Her spells were powerful and well-aimed, but she was wary of hurting the innocent mass behind me, while I had free reign since she stood by herself beside the fireplace.

"_Fuxio," _I hissed.

Unnoticed by her, the iron poker that rested over the bare mantelpiece rattled and twisted. It split in four short pieces of metal, which I transfigured into something resembling handcuffs. While concentrating on the spell my shield got neglected, and one of her cutting curses slipped by and grazed my cheek.

With blood dripping down my face, I gave the last sharp flick of my wand and my constructs leapt off the mantelpiece. They wrapped themselves around her wrists and ankles. She struggled for a moment, but I slashed my wand in a vertical motion and she was roughly pushed against the wall, her limbs were spread apart and I then levitated her six feet above the ground. The handcuffs nailed themselves into the stone wall and kept the Auror suspended there, immobile.

I grinned, pointed my wand and stunned her. Her head bobbed down and her body relaxed.

But when I turned around I realized there was no time to feel smug. By then everybody had seen me fighting the Auror, and the fifty or so civilians had put some distance between me and them, crowding by the reception desk. I couldn't blend in anymore. The rest of the Aurors managed to cross the length of the hall before I could disappear, too, and there was nowhere to run.

Before they could get to me, I covertly pointed my wand at the Auror I had practically nailed to the wall above the fireplaces and whispered an incantation. My curse was silent and colourless; completely undetectable. I left my wand-arm drop to my side as I was quickly surrounded.

Auror Miller approached the fireplace and gestured for another Auror to bring the woman down. "She's merely stunned. Revive her immediately." His eyes fell on me and he hissed, "Drop it. Drop. It. Now."

I returned his look of utmost hate with a small smile and let my wand clatter to the ground. I kicked it away from me. It was quickly picked up by one of the Aurors surrounding me.

The Captain Auror and the Auror I'd knocked out earlier proved impossible to revive. I could see each being inspected by a different Healer, and no matter how many times they tried casting the reviving spell, itdidn't work. They were both suffering from rather severe concussions. The trainee I'd merely stunned, however, was revived immediately.

"Leanne? Leanne, are you okay?" asked the Auror who'd freed and revived the woman.

She sat up groggily and rubbed her wrists, where my handcuffs had cut into her skin. Her dark eyes quickly found me, standing in the middle of the hall with no wand in hand and surrounded by seven Aurors. She stood, picked up her wand, and without answering her fellow Auror's questions, she headed towards us.

They gave her serious nods and circled me like vultures. I could see hate in almost every single face. Their wands were drawn, their postures tense, and they were waiting for Auror Miller to give them green light.

I adopted a surprised yet delighted expression.

"Ah, my friends," I said pleasantly in the relative quiet that followed. "I was wondering if I'd talk to you before I left."

"Put your hands in the air and surrender your spare wands!" Auror Miller called in an even voice. "In the name of the Ministry of Magic, do it. Now!"

I smiled and scanned the room. Now that I'd been found, civilians were being strongly encouraged to leave. Some of them immediately did, but the more morbid and curious were reluctant to do so, instead wanting to enjoy the show. I needed to act before they were forced to leave by the authorities. I needed eye witnesses if my gamble was to pay off.

For a moment, standing amidst the thirty or so civilians I thought I saw… But no, it was impossible. The odds of them being here were astronomical. I lost track of them before I could make sure of what I'd seen.

"Why, this wand?" I pulled out one of the spares I'd collected and raised it for them to see. They tensed. "This is a nice wand… You might want to ask Wilson where I got this from."

"Drop it. Now."

"I'm afraid not," I said, a wide grin stretching my face. Despite the unanswered questions, seeing Dumbledore again had brought back treasured memories, too. "You seem to be laboring under the delusion that I will – what is the phrase? – _come quietly_. I'm afraid I am not going to come quietly at all, Auror Miller."

I was skilled, experienced and powerful, and I knew it, too. I could bring the whole building crumbling down on them, crushing them like mere insects. Or I could take their wands and slam them hard against the walls with a single sweeping motion of my wand. Or I could stun them with twelve silver, lightning-fast jets of light, and they would come to by the time I was looking for housing in northern Australia.

But the British Aurors of 1945 didn't know that, and it was something I needed to change. I needed these people to fear me, to have that small flicker of uncertainty flash through their minds whenever they thought of taking me down. Half my battles would be won if my opponents were too scared to raise a wand against me.

I had learned the lesson from Voldemort himself.

"Enough of this," growled Miller with his wand raised. I kept mine pointed at the floor. "House, Fuller, cover the exits. Clubber, Leon, Webber, you guard the fireplaces." He glanced at the rest of the Aurors, who kept their eyes on me, circling me with fire in their eyes. "The rest of you – take him!"

Miller and the six remaining Aurors stepped forward. I gave a relaxed, confident smile and gestured for them to come closer. The trainee Auror I'd already stunned once sputtered in outrage and growled, "_Incarcerous!"_

I vanished the ropes with a lazy flick of my wand, and the rest of the Aurors took this as their cue to chime in. Almost in unison they snapped their wands back and then jabbed them sharply in my direction.

I brought up my wand in one swift slashing movement and a translucent blue shield materialized around me. The Aurors' curses crashed against its surface and a harsh, high-pitched noise tore through the reception hall. Windows shattered and glass fell to the floor. I saw the few civilians left cower behind the Mediwitches' half-loop counter.

Fueled by that inexplicable feeling of power, I turned and swept my wand horizontally. There came a sudden rush of wind that expanded away from me. Two Aurors, one of them Leanne, the woman I'd nailed to the wall, were too slow in their casting – the invisible force smashed through their feeble shields, lifted them up and sent them flying through the hall. They crashed roughly against the wall, dropped to the hard, cold floor and didn't get up.

Somewhere to the left, I thought I heard a cry of, "Harry!" But I was too distracted to pay proper attention, and the voice went unnoticed amidst the yelling of incantations.

My shield held against the combined onslaught of the five remaining Aurors. They were skilled and well-trained, but they would never be able to overpower me. I let my eyes wander over their faces, seeing their expressions of frustration and anger. As I deflected stunners, cutters, ropes, jets of flame, freezing and asphyxiating curses – my vision filled with streaks of vicious light – once again I thought I saw _them _through the corner of my eye –

But a well-aimed bone-breaker slipped past my defences and connected with my left hand. The bone snapped into pieces and a sharp lance of pain made my vision swim. Grunting and breathing heavily, I cast a numbing charm on my left hand and cleared my head off the pain as best I could.

I turned to glare at the Auror responsible. My blue shield went back up in full force.

At a gesture of my wand the ground shook and the Aurors' spell-casting momentarily faltered. With my left arm hanging limply to the side, I dropped to one knee and stabbed the hard marble floor with my wooden wand. The floor cracked.

Before the Aurors could interrupt my casting, I gave the wand a sharp twist and slashed it on the floor in a half-circle. The ground shook again, and this time the small fissures formed into wide cuts and holes, which branched off away from me, and a bright white light shone through the gaps in the floor. The marble tiles began to rise, hovering in between me and the Aurors.

For a moment there was silence in the reception hall of St. Mungo's. The Aurors stood with their wands raised, their stances tense and wary, and I glared at them through narrowed eyes, holding my wand in front of me like a sword, gathering the last of my power. The heavy and large fragments of marble floated between us, rotating slowly in place, threatening to be set loose.

"Give up," I said somberly. "Order your men to stand back and let me go. You can't win this fight, Miller."

He considered it. I could see it in his eyes. Miller glanced at the Aurors stationed by the exit and the fireplaces. The ones standing in front of me, warily maintaining their shields in place, eyeing the marble tiles slowly spin in circles, turned to look at Miller. He didn't say anything for a moment, instead glaring at me while he thought.

"Who are you?" he finally said. "There are no records of a wizard with your skills and physical appearance in the Ministry. You show up one day and wreak havoc in Muggle London and kill a wizard. Nobody has ever seen you before. Who the _hell _are you?"

I kept my focus firmly over the floating tiles, ready to be unleashed at a split-second's notice. I could feel the dried blood on my left cheek. My broken hand occasionally shot a wave of pain through my body, and when the bandages wrapped around my chest pressed against the burns I had to resist the urge to rip them off.

"That's not important, Auror Miller," I said, my voice level and clear despite the blinding pain. "Now, call your men away from the exits and let me leave. Nobody needs to get hurt."

"I can't just let you leave. You know that," he answered. "You've been sentenced to life in Azkaban. I could spend twenty years there if I give that order."

The Aurors, and most importantly, Auror Miller, had learned their place. They had realized they were outclassed, even with their superior numbers. Our fight had turned into a negotiation at wand-point. They would remember this encounter for as long as it took me to finish Voldemort, maybe longer.

Now I needed to make a show of good will.

"It's part of your job to make difficult choices," I told him. The reception hall seemed to take a collective breath. "If you avoid this unnecessary violence – and I assure you, you can't win – I will leave. I will leave London, and then I will leave England altogether. Odds are you will never see me again."

"But Miller," I said, and paused as the marble tiles quivered threateningly and spread to surround the Aurors. "Make the wrong choice and you will make an enemy of me. Make the wrong choice and you'll be responsible for the damage done this day. Make the wrong choice and you'll spend years chasing a phantom. And you will never catch me."

He looked conflicted. Some Aurors nodded at him, urging him to let me leave, to avoid the massacre. But others gave him ready, confident looks, clearly against that option and willing to face me as best they could. I noticed the Aurors stationed by the fireplace subtly inching towards the left, moving to catch me unawares from my back.

Ultimately, there was never a choice for Miller. Even if he already knew the outcome of this encounter, he was forced to make the wrong decision. He took a deep breath and gave me a meaningful, almost pleading look, one I had no trouble interpreting: _I have no choice. Don't hold it against them. _I nodded imperceptibly at him.

He looked relieved. My estimation of Auror Miller rose.

"Pending the corresponding hearing, as per the Criminal Code of the British Ministry of Magic," Miller announced formally, "you have been found guilty of charges against assault, escape of custody, murder and a breach of the International Statute of Secrecy. Thusly, in the name of the Ministry of Magic, I order you to surrender your wand and turn yourself in."

"In that case," I said, giving the Aurors a respectful nod and raising my wand, "you leave me no choice."

The Aurors stealthily moving to surround me from behind were suddenly slammed by lightning-fast fragments of marble. Their cries of pain were muffled by the yelling of incantations by the Aurors standing in front of me. Streaks of vicious light were met by the storm of rock that circled me, and even as my focus shielded me against their attack, I brutally retaliated.

I gave a long sweeping gesture with my wand and the dozens of marble tiles exploded away from me, like heavy cannon balls being fired. The deadly pieces smashed through protective shields and struck the Aurors down, one by one, knocking them unconscious with varying degrees of injury until there was no one left standing.

The fight didn't last more than ten seconds.

I relaxed and the heavy fragments of marble dropped to the ground with sharp, harsh sounds. Past the mass of unconscious Aurors lying in the middle of the reception hall, I could see the few civilians that had opted to stay hiding behind the Mediwitches' counter, poking their heads out to stare at me with wide eyes.

"Leave," I told them. "The show's over."

It took them a moment, but soon they snapped out of their stupor and rushed towards the exit. In twos they crossed the seemingly solid wall that led to Muggle London. A few of them half-turned to stare at me one last time, standing in the middle of St. Mungo's Hospital reception hall amidst rows of unconscious Aurors. My little stunt would be front page news tomorrow, which was exactly what I thought I needed to build myself a useful reputation.

I looked across the hall where Leanne, the female Auror I'd nailed to the wall, lay unmoving, her eyes half-open and glazed over. With a firm mental command, the Imperiuscurse I had cast earlier kicked in, and she rose in a single, fluid motion, completely disregarding the rather nasty bruise on her forehead or the lump on the back of her head. She had been my insurance card, the ace up my sleeve in case things went wrong.

"Come, Auror Leanne, you have work to do," I told her. The silence in the reception hall was becoming oppressive. I couldn't wait to leave. "Go upstairs," I ordered as she drew closer, "and find Professor Albus Dumbledore. He should be aimlessly wandering over the fourth and fifth floors. Tell him what happened here. Tell him of my conversation with Auror Miller. Then tell him I will contact him some time tomorrow, so that we can meet to talk things over. Go, Leanne."

Auror Leanne turned and with an expressionless mask on her face walked towards the staircase. "Wait," I called. She stopped and stared at me with far away blue eyes. "Repeat this to Dumbledore: I'm sorry about your mother and sister, Albus. Tomorrow you will get a letter, and if you help me, you will finally settle the score with Gellert Grindelwald." I motioned for her to leave. "And have Dumbledore erase your memory when you're done."

I let Leanne leave, climbing up the stairs at a very slow pace, which would give me time to make my own exit without running into an irate Dumbledore. He would not be pleased about the number of unconscious Aurors and the escape of a wanted criminal.

I walked almost leisurely towards the apparition zone, moving slowly to avoid unwanted jolts of pain from my hand and chest. As I weaved through the huge fragments of marble that littered the floor, dodging the holes filled with dirt I'd uncovered, I thought about meeting the old man tomorrow. He, of course, wouldn't remember the future. The answers I wanted so badly would have to wait.

But I'd already accepted Filius and I needed help. We couldn't pull this off on our own. Dumbledore would be suspicious and untrusting at the beginning – the old man generally was, even if he didn't show it – yet I was confident he'd come to understand I wasn't a mindless killer and that we were there for something bigger, something that required his attention and cooperation.

I reached the apparition zone and paused. Through the narrow passage I'd just walked, past the tall archway and across the reception hall, I caught a glimpse of Albus Dumbledore walking away from the staircase, his strides long and hurried. I smiled at him, even if I knew he couldn't see me.

I gave the destruction I'd caused one last regretful look, turned on the spot and disapparated.

* * *

Stanford St. was rather loud compared to the silence I'd left behind. The familiar old-fashioned, black cars cruised the street and groups of people crowded the sidewalks. My arrival behind a small building went unnoticed.

I breathed in the fresh air, pleased to be in the open once again. I've already mentioned I didn't like spending time in closed spaces. That dislike only increased when I was held there against my will.

Standing in front of the building we were staying in, I drew my wand and cast a detection spell over the entrance. It came back negative, which meant no spells had recently been cast in the area. I extended the revealing spell to encompass the higher floors of the building. This time it showed signs of recent magical activity.

Shielding my face from the sun's harsh glare, I looked up, trying to see the window of our apartment. There was nothing visibly wrong with the face of the building.

Tired, in pain and a little worried, I made sure no one was looking and apparated to the floor we were staying in. The dark hallway was empty and the door to our flat looked unperturbed. Another quick detection charm revealed Filius' basic protections were still in place.

I gripped the doorknob and felt Filius' enchantments sweep over my body. Nothing nasty happened, so I assumed I was still keyed in. I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The apartment looked empty. I closed the door behind me and dropped on a comfortable couch by the window. Auror Leanne's cutter had left a stinging sensation in my left cheek, the bandages around my torso pressed against my chest when I moved, and my left hand was utterly destroyed. My vision swam, getting progressively worse.

I closed the drapes with a tired flick of my wand and waited. I needed to find Filius. As best I could I kept my hand numb and avoided moving at all cost, instead lying on the couch with my eyes half-open.

Sometime later the door creaked open. The noise startled me, and I was instantly awake, trying to see past the shadows that had crept into the room while I was asleep. Ignoring the constant throb of pain, I raised my wand shakily and mumbled, "_Lumos."_

To my delight and relief, it was Filius. He was wearing his 'public appearance', with long, brown hair and dark eyes. Under the dim light of my wand we stared at each other for a moment. He was frozen in surprise.

"Hey, Fil," I said hoarsely. "And how was your day?"

"_Harry?" _he said incredulously. "Merlin, I – you… How?"

I gave him a tired yet cheeky look. "Magic."

Filius remained rooted to the spot, his hand still gripping the doorknob, his expression gobsmacked. Then he laughed delightedly. He pulled out his wand, gave it a flick, and the gas lamps we had positioned around the room simultaneously lit up, their lights flooding the living room.

I smiled tiredly as he walked towards me. "You're hurt," he pointed out worriedly, but that didn't stop the old, little man from hugging me tightly, making me wince as the burns on my chest screamed their protest. He released me and looked into my eyes with such a relieved look that I was momentarily thrown off balance. "What happened? How did you get out?"

I tossed my wand to the floor and leaned back against the couch. Filius knelt beside me. "It wasn't as easy as I thought it'd be," I told him, my voice becoming weaker. My throat was completely dry. "In the end I pulled through, though. I even managed to contact Dumbledore. We should meet with him tomorrow, see how things play out."

"Oh, dear God," Filius breathed, still in wonder over my sudden appearance. He pointed at the blood on the left side of my face. "Is that your only injury? We should get you fixed up as soon as possible."

"Burn on my chest. My left hand's broken, too."

"Alright, alright," he said quickly, shaking off his surprise and standing up. Filius gestured with his wand at a small bag lying on the floor by the kitchen's table and it went zooming towards him. "Just relax and let me fix that. I'm afraid I am not very familiar with mending broken bones, but we'll find a way. Let's see what I have here…"

As he rummaged through his medical kit, I relaxed on my seat, allowing myself to feel drowsy and safe now that I didn't have to stay alert to my surroundings. Filius kept a running commentary on the things he found, and generally saying anything and everything that came to his mind.

I would've broken my other hand before admitting it to him, but I was extremely grateful Filius was there to take care of me. How many days and nights had I spent lying in bed alone, waiting for my injuries to be healed by my own magic?

While Filius vanished my transfigured shirt to take a look at my chest, I heard the door creak open once again. Suddenly more alert, I forced my eyes open to look at the newcomer, yearning to pick up my wand, yet not finding enough energy to move.

A drawling voice spoke in an American accent.

"Where should I put these bags, Filius? And let me tell you, next time you'll be carrying – whoa, who's the terminal patient?"

I looked confusedly at Filius, my eyes demanding him to explain.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said without looking up from my chest. "Harry, this is Gary. Gary, this is the man we were looking for; Harry."

"_Gary?" _I repeated incredulously.

"Harry? This is the guy we were going to bust out? _Harry?"_

This time Filius looked up, his expression once again surprised. "You two know each other?"

"Yeah, we met yesterday. He happened to walk past the theater."

Gary walked closer and I finally was able to make out his dirty-blonde hair, mischievous blue eyes and the yellow cowboy hat sitting on his head. He dropped the brown bags he was carrying on the kitchen's table, dragged a chair forward and sat down to look at me.

"So," he said, "a consultant, eh?"

I chuckled. Pain shot through my body. "Sorry. I lied. How'd you two meet?"

Filius and Gary shared a look. Even in my exhausted state I could tell there was something they were hesitant to tell me. "That is a rather long and complicated story, Harry," Filius said as he cast numbing charms all over my body. I breathed a sigh of relief. "What do you say we leave it for tomorrow? Get some rest."

I grunted something unintelligible. "Alright. But keep watch," I managed to say. "There's lots of Aurors looking for me. And Dumbledore. We'll have to leave the country tomorrow."

My vision dimmed and my eyes gradually fell closed on their own accord. Filius' and Gary's voices slowly faded into an incomprehensible background noise, which helped lulled me into sleep. I last saw Gary pouring himself a drink and lighting a cigarette, and Filius rubbing his face in a tired yet pleased fashion, already filling his pipe for the long night to come.

* * *

_Thank you for reading. If you're looking for more badass HP fanfics, I suggest you join the **DLP C2**. It has dozens of the best of the best fics out there, most of them written by DarkLordPotter members. **Go to my profile page, check out the link and subscribe**. There's nothing to lose and everything to be had._

_The word "Cutter" used to refer to the forensics team is an idea I took from Matt Silver 3k and his story** Breach of Contract: Twelve Signs. **__Thank you, man!_

_And how 'bout a review, folks? Thanks._

_Nick_


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